


Lost in the Darkness

by lacat123



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Castiel (Supernatural) Has Nightmares, Castiel/Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Castiel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, If You Squint - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapped Castiel, Kidnapped Dean Winchester, Kidnapped Sam Winchester, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Psychological Torture, Revenge, Sam Winchester Takes Care of Dean Winchester, Torture, Tortured Castiel, Tortured Dean Winchester, Tortured Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-09-16 13:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 26,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16954527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacat123/pseuds/lacat123
Summary: Hunting with the Winchesters was nice. A way for Cas to forget the horrors of his past, and look towards the future. But when a mistake he had made long ago comes back to haunt them all, how will he hold it together? How will they all make it out in one piece?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! This fic has been my child for the past month and it is finally finished! I am planning on posting every day. Hope everyone likes it! By the way, if you want to believe there is Destiel, there can be, but it is just implied (albeit heavily). 
> 
> This is set in that time in Hunteri Heroici where Cas is hunting with Sam and Dean. Because I started to write this before I knew what would happen in later seasons, it is pretty heavily canon-divergent (you'll see). 
> 
> No warnings for chapter one.

Chapter One  


_Sam and Dean’s motel room, ___  
_Bloomington, Illinois: __  
_

The bright sunlight burst through the shades. The beam of light it shone reached slowly towards a wooden table, laden with books and reports.

Dean Winchester stood, looking anxiously over his brother’s shoulder. The younger hunter was currently looking at his laptop, scowling at the home screen of his email.

“Come on, respond you lazy-ass, son of a-“ Sam listened to Dean swear and clicked the refresh button a few more times before he gave up and slouched into the straight back of the chair. They always cursed how uncomfortable these motel seats really were.

Dean ran a shaking hand through his hair, messing up the already tangled locks. His feet moved of their own accord, forcing him to pace across the dirty, stained carpet. Each step added to the steady beat he was creating. Each one getting that much closer to wearing a hole through the floor, Sam thought.

"How much longer, Sam? How much longer are we just going to wait here, researching for this dumb-ass hunt while Cas-“ Dean’s voice tapered, the possibility of his friend being injured, or worse his mind supplied, too much to bear. He leaned heavily over the other chair, attempting to pull more oxygen in his lungs. Sam looked up from his laptop worriedly.

"Dean, it's only been two days. He's been gone much longer than that before without you getting this riled up." Sam took another look at his brother, assessing him from the corner of his eye. "You need to calm down. You're going to make yourself sick."

"Shove it up your ass, princess."

A smile tugged at the corner of Sam’s lips. Dean couldn’t be too out of it after that comment.

Besides, it had only been two days, two days since Cas said he had found a lead on the rougaru they were hunting nearby at a local college. That was hardly long enough to sound the alarm, especially with the angel's tendency to disappear without a word. He’s probably just researching, trying to find another lead, and forgot to call them.

But Dean still worried, and to the point of making himself ill. His trembling arms pulled the chair farther away from the table, moving to sit down. Despite the hard exterior he showed everyone else, it was obvious to Sam he was breaking apart with anxiety over his friend.

"We'll find him, Dean."

"I know," he laid his head on his arms which rested on the table, "I know,"

A loud ping sounded through the room, and Sam glanced back to his laptop, pulling open the long-awaited email. The police officer he had spoken with earlier had finally sent him the autopsy reports. Clicking on the attachment, an image of a golden ring all three victims had been wearing when they died filled the screen. Although "wearing" was a bit of an exaggeration, as the other images of their bloody remains scattered across carpeted floors showed.

The band bore the emblem of Illinois Wesleyan, a local college, barely ten minutes from their hotel. Apparently, all the victims were alumni, and had come back for their twenty year anniversary. That must be where the creature has been getting its food from. Nothing else connected them. They were even staying in different hotels.

"Dean, that police officer finally sent me the autopsy and crime scene reports. I think I found a lead," the other hunter slowly lifted his head, pulled from his thoughts by the words. If they had a lead, maybe it would bring them to Cas?

"What is it?" He replied, his voice tired but now holding a modicum of hope.

After quickly explaining his findings, the two brothers set out to the college, where one of the reunion events was currently taking place. The sleek black Impala tore from the parking lot.

Little did they know another vehicle followed them barely a minute after, kicking up loose gravel as it pushed forward.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So these next few chapters are not quite as action-packed as later ones, and still don't like them quite as much, so here is chapters two and three.
> 
> Chapter Two:  
> Graphic descriptions of blood/injuries

Chapter Two  
_Illinois Wesleyan College, ___  
_Bloomington, Illinois: _  
__

Dean and Sam were soon standing outside the college’s athletic center. They walked up the stone steps to the doors, hands already gripping the fake FBI badges. In the car, they had discussed their plan to question some of the party-goers during the celebration about the dead alumni. Even outside the building, they could hear the heavy thumping of music.

Just as they were nearing the door, Sam stopped, motioning and stooping down to look at a stain on the pavement.

"Dean, I think this is blood," His voice had a small quiver in it, showing his worry. There was a lot on the pavement, still fresh.

“Sammy-“ Dean started before straightening back up and looking down the rest of the path. More, smaller stains adorned the sidewalk, leading away from the building and around the back.

They gave each other worried glances, before shoving the badges back into their pockets, palming guns instead.

Together they followed the trail of tiny blood drops, holding their breath until they came upon another stain on the ground, this one larger. Dean swore.

The blood was pooled around a slight dip in the pavement. There was enough there to make it clear whosever it belonged to is no longer kicking.

Dean forced himself to look into the liquid. Something was off about it. He has seen enough blood in his lifetime to know that this just wasn’t right.

After a few seconds he figured out what was bothering him, pointing it out to Sam.

The blood was separating. It looked as though it was mixed with something else, something it didn't quite like. Although what that could be...

"What do you think this is?" Dean asked quietly. His little brother would probably be able to explain what they were seeing.

"It looks... it looks almost like oil. It wouldn't mix in with the blood but stay seperated. Although why it would be mixed like this I can’t say, unless someone preformed a ritual here. But witches don’t line up with the case,"

Dean let his voice fade into the background of his thoughts.

Oil, it was oil. Why in the hell would there be oil-

A bolt of fear flashed through him as he understood. If it was what he thought it could be, then Cas could be in trouble. Hell, he would have to be in trouble.

No rougaru would carry holy oil with them.

His fears were confirmed when Sam bent down. A grimace on his face, he reached deep into the pool. His hand came up, dripping red, and holding up an blood-soaked rosary. That had to have been used to bless the heavenly liquid.

The world swam before Dean's eyes. Every possibility of what could have happened to Cas ran through his head. Demons, other angels. Hell, even God himself was a suspect at this point. Cas has just escaped Purgatory, and now he's been separated from him again.

Sam put a steadying hand on the his shoulder.

"Dean, this doesn't mean anything. It might not be related to angels at all,"

"Yeah, because all rougarus bring holy oil with them on hunting trips," He could hear the pitch of his voice rising as panic filled him.

“Dean, we will find him, we always do....” He let Sam’s soothing voice wash over him, but even that couldn’t stop all the thoughts hurtling through his brain.

He had just let Cas down again, right after failing to pull him out of Purgatory. The angel would never forgive him, not after he had just promised to keep him safe before this hunt. He always seemed to break his-

A high, bloodcurdling scream suddenly hit their ears. It sounded like a woman’s voice. Sam tucked the rosary into his pocket, any disgust at the blood still dripping off not noticeable. He nodded towards the athletic center, where the sound appeared to come from.

They held their guns ready as they ran back along the path. Dean spared a quick glance at the first puddle of blood, feeling his stomach turn.

They reached the front entrance of the building in less then a minute. Pushing open the doors, they were greeted by multiple middle aged men and women crowding around something in the center of the floor.

A couple of people were crying, one near hysteria who was loudly sobbing out a man's name. Her light pink dress was spattered with blood. She kneeled down on the ground.

Pushing through the crowd, the two hunters came upon what everyone had been watching.

A man, slightly past his prime and in a white dress shirt, lay face up on the ground. His grey eyes were staring unseeing at the ceiling. Blood soaked through from the back, splattering his shirt. His wrists were slit, but suprisingly no blood ran out of the severed arteries, and too little was on the ground around him. But apart from that, and a ring of bruises around his neck he looked otherwise normal, not at all like a rougaru had just attacked and fed on him.

The women crouched beside him, cradling his head in her hands. Tears ran down her, and her loud sobs echoed through the room.

Dean would have written it off as a man, whose facing of all his old peers had pushed him over the edge. He wanted to with everything in him. Just another man killing himself would be a lot easier to handle then whatever this case has turned into.

But something didn’t feel right. The blood outside, the oil, the fact that it happened to be where all the other victims had come from. The ring of bruises around his neck, and the clean cuts that was devoid of blood. And that there was no indication of where all the red on his shirt had come from.

He noticed that Sam had gently pulled the woman up, told her to step back, and was now kneeling beside the body.

He glance quickly at the older hunter, before rolling the man over.

Dean had still been able to hold out some hope this was a suicide. Until they flipped him over.

His shirt had been cut down the center of his back. His back itself was still lazily dripping blood.

Thin, precise cuts marred the pale skin, twisting from the man’s shoulder blades to his biceps. Between the two shapes was a distinctive stab wound.

When Dean saw the state of his back, he nearly fell over. Black threatned to encroach from the edges of his vision. Someone had carved-

someone had carved wings into this man.

Dean felt bile rise in his throat, wanting to look away but unable. Everything seemed to still, the world coming to a screeching halt. This, combined with the holy oil outside; it had to have something to do with Cas. Dean dimly thought that his wrists were where the blood outside had originated. Someone had drained it out of him.

Sam spared a quick glance at his brother, before pulling his badge from his jacket pocket and showing it to the crowd.

Dean continued to just stare at the mans back, unsure he would be able to move without falling to the floor. And beside, he felt as though his feet were glued to the waxed wood.

Sam quickly pushed people back away from the man, citing some ongoing investigation. The woman who had been hysterical before was now weeping into another’s shoulder.

Soon Sam had control of the crowd, and the brothers were alone with the body, everyone having been pushed outside. Sam crouched over to examine him. Although he had been choked, the wrists were what had killed him. The wings were carved posthumously, along with the stab wound, which severed and crunched his spinal cord.

He looked over at his brother, worried about how the news he was going to deliver would affect him.

"Dean, this wound, it was made by an angel blade," Sam said gently, stating the fact thta both brothers knew but neither wanted to believe.

The room swam in front of Dean’s eyes, the blackness at the edges sweeping in further and threatening to pull him under. That had to be Cas’ blade. Whoever had killed and-

and mutilated this man had to have his angel. Or has already killed him.

It almost seemed to be a show, a scene staged for them to find clues. Sam sorted through the man’s pockets, stopping when his fingers closed around something hard. He pulled a flip phone out, turning it over in his hands.

This could not possibly be the man’s phone. It was bright pink, decorated with little flower stickers and had a name written in purple sharpie along the cover: Claire. This was a girl’s phone, a young girl by the looks of it.

Somehow it still looked innocent, even with a few drops of blood on it.

Sam flipped it open, looking through the speed dials. There was only one set, with the word 'Mom' beside it.

Just as he was about to press the call button, a siren filled his ears. The police would be here any minute, and they both knew it would be best for them to leave and avoid questions they’d rather not have to answer. After all, what could the FBI's two most wanted fugitives be doing good around a dead body?

Sam stood up and placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, pulling the older man from his thoughts. Dean slowly pulled his gaze away from the body, walking with his brother to. Together they left the gym through a back entrance and climbed into the Impala, making their way back to their motel.

They would find their angel. But it was a race against time they didn't even know had begun


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter three! Chapter four posted tomorrow!
> 
> No warnings for chapter three.

Chapter Three  
_Pontiac, Illinois: _  
__

A low dripping sound reverberated through the small space. There was no light except from a small half-window near the ceiling. Its glass had been covered with a dirty, but still slightly translucent, shower curtain.

Various wards were spray painted in red, a sharp contrast to the otherwise invariable black of the walls.

In the center of the small basement hung a figure suspended in the air. The man had heavy manacles around both wrists, the chain between them running through a metal pole attached to the ceiling. His toes barely scraped the ground. Around him was a large cage, made out of wire fencing.

The man had on no shoes nor socks, and was wearing only his dress pants and undershirt. The rest of his clothes were tucked away in some corner of the living room above, ready to be washed, folded, and placed in a drawer.

Castiel stood with his head high, eyes bright and piercing with anger. He had been outside the gymnasium for the university, where a "hoe-down", as Dean called it, had been held one day prior for past students. While investigating the outside of the building, a woman had jumped him.

They fought, but surprisingly she had managed to get the upper hand. With his own blade to his throat, he had quickly surrendered to her, and been disarmed of his remaining weapons. But before he could even think of a plan, she had lowered the blade to his skin, carved a sigil, and knocked him out with a spell. All of it was in Enochian. That meant she knew what he was, maybe even who he was.

When he had come to, he found himself chained and his grace tightly bound. That had been a day ago. He had not seen the woman since.

Thoughts of his kidnapper being another angel had run through his mind, but were quickly dismissed by the fact he could not feel nor see her grace.

But that didn’t stop images of his siblings from filling his mind. Zachariah, Raphael. All his old “teachers”, as this woman was likely to soon become.

The thought didn’t scare him. He felt very little actual pain on this world, so torture from humans in itself was nothing more than perverted posturing. But the idea of Sam and Dean out there, trying to find him, sent a bolt of terror through his heart.

Even if he could not feel pain, they can. And whoever had taken him could take them as well.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the door opening at the top of the stairs. Creaking footsteps followed as his kidnapper strode down them.

The second he saw her clearly, he recognized her. Although, it wasn’t really him.

He had memories of singing with her at church, of their wedding day in the Carribean. Of the day their daughter was born.

These were not his memories, but Jimmy’s. His vessel’s wife had kidnapped him.

His gaze lingered on her golden hair, before drawing down to her hands. They were clenched around something he could tell just by the feel of the grace was his angel blade.

And it was slowly dripping blood.

The woman reached the bottom of the stairs, pausing a minute before stalking over. Her hands fiddled with blade, turning it over and over. She smiled, before unlocking and stepping through the door and in front of the angel.

“Hello, Castiel. It’s been too long,” her voice was cold, and it was hard for Cas to believe that the woman, with whom he had so many happy memories with, was the same as the one who stood in front of him today.

“Why have you brought me here?”

“To pay for your crimes. Against my family, against the world.”

“Ms. Novak, I regret that-“ he was cut off with a sharp, backhanded slap, whipping his head to the side. He didn’t feel the pain, but that didn’t stop the blood from welling up from his split lip.

“Now, now. You don’t get to regret anything." She put the blade into the waistband of her jeans, and stepped even closer to Cas. "You forced Jimmy to be your vessel,”

Her hand reached out and gently carressed his cheek. She didn't seem bothered by his flinch at her touch.

“You destroyed my daughter,” Cas was startled by that. His eyes met hers and widend slightly. He had never done anything to harm Claire. He would never injure any of Jimmy's family. Amelia seemed to notice his surprised look, and laughed humorlessly.

“What do you think happens when a little girl starts saying she was possessed by an angel, just like her father? When she said that demons were real? They took her away, along my parental rights, citing that I ‘corrupted her mind’. She’s dead because of you. Jimmy is dead because of you. You ripped apart my entire family,” She was yelling by the time her speech was over, a tear running down her face.

“And now, I’m going to rip apart yours too,”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter four. I don't know if anyone is actually reading this, but from now on I will most likely actually post on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
> 
> No warnings for Chapter Four.

Chapter Four  
_Sam and Dean’s motel room, ___  
_Bloomington, Illinois: _  
__

_____ _

_____ _

The moment they were back in their room, Sam had pulled out the phone, ready to dial the number. He had no idea how the cell fit in with their rougaru case, but if the carved up body had been any indication, there may be more to this then they originally thought.

Dean had just sat down on the bed, his mind going at a thousand miles a second. He was trying desperately to keep his lunch down. All he could think about was the bloody rosary at the college, the distinctive stab wound.

Those wings.

He lost his inner battle and ran to the bathroom, letting the contents of his stomach back into the world.

A few minutes later he stood back up, gargled some water in his mouth, and took a look in the mirror. The man who looked back was tired, worn down to the bone with dark circles around his eyes. He sighed, threw some water on his face, then walked back out into the main room.

Sam was still sitting with the phone in his hand, watching him closely.

“I’d thought you’d want me to wait,” Sam said, motioning for his brother to sit next to him. Dean pulled out the chair and nodded to him gratefully.

Sam hit the speed dial and put the phone on speaker. The rings were agonizing to wait for, each one pulling more despair into Dean’s heart. Each one bringing him closer to losing hope at ever seeing his angel again.

Finally, on the last ring, the call was picked up. A woman’s voice filled the room, soft and melodic.

“Hello? Who is this?” She asked, her tone happy and upbeat. Dean thought he recognized it, but couldn’t place from where. Before he could respond, the woman asked another question.

“Did you find Claire’s phone?” Sam told her yes, looking quickly over at him. How were they going to tell this woman that her daughter’s phone had been found on a man’s mutilated, dead body? The woman’s voice filled the air again, and all of the breath was knocked from the two brothers. They could only stare in shock at the bright pink cell.

“You must be the Winchesters, then. I hope you've liked my little sets,”

"Who are you?" Sam asked.

"I'm the person who has that little pet you’re so fond of," Dean looked at his brother confused, before Sam responded for the both of them.

"Do you have Castiel?"

"Yes,"

Dean swore quietly, his eyes meeting Sam’s pleadingly. The younger hunter gave the phone to his brother, who quickly stood up and started pacing.

“Where is he?” Dean growled, “if you’ve touched one hair on his head-“

The mystery woman started laughing, the sound chilling them to the bone.

“His head? HIS head? He doesn’t have a body, only the one he stole. From me.” Dean stared at the phone in confusion. Who was this person?

"I see you did find my little scene at the college, pieced it together. Well done. It seems the monkeys can dance.” Everything in Dean wanted to smash the cell into little pieces right then and there, but he needed it to find Cas.

And he needed Cas.

“What do you want?”

"You know, patience is a virtue, Dean. You might want to think about possessing it. Now, your little angel here? He took something of mine, and I just want a little justice. As they say, an eye for an eye, right?" This woman was really starting to get on his nerves.

"Let me speak to Cas,"

"You really think I am that stupid, don’t you? Dean, you will come to this address at midnight tonight. Alone. Unarmed.” Sam looked over at his brother, already anticipating the argument they were going to have about this.

"And what do I get out of this?"

"When I do let you talk to the angel, maybe he'll be able to do something beyond scream,"

The dial tone sounded through the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! So, I know I am not being consistent with my posting and I apologize. This story will most likely now be updated every day. Hope everyone likes the new chapter!
> 
> No warnings for chapter five.

Chapter Five  
_Midnight, ___  
_Warehouse outside Pontiac,_  


Dean walked up warily to the abandoned warehouse, quietly swearing under his breath.

"They always choose creepy, abandoned warehouses. Why can’t we just go to a park or something for once" He muttered softly to himself, trying to alleviate some of his nerves.

It had taken an hour of arguing with Sam for him to finally let him go alone, but eventually he had won, citing what would happen if she did bring Cas and he was there too.

Although, the gun in the back of his jeans and the knife in his boot would show how much he complied with the 'unarmed' part.

He reached for the door to the building, wincing at the loud groan it gave at being opened for the first time in decades. The door gave way to the inky black inside, lit only by moonlight streaming in through grimy windows. Looking at his surroundings, he couldn't help but think that it looked very similar to the warehouse he had first met Cas in, minus the weird graffitti.

He glanced around, trying to find the woman, but nothing beyond shadows greeted him. Until two of the shadows moved, and disconnected from the others.

He was suprised by how she looked when she stepped into a shaft of light. He would have expected to see her at a church bakesale, not in an abandoned warehouse discussing hostages. She had long, slightly mousy blonde hair, and grey-blue eyes. Everything about her screamed plain and ordinary.

Well, everything except for the gun leveled at Sam's head.

He swore loudly. His first instinct was to draw his own, seeing as how this woman seemed too church-y to actually kill Sam as he drew. But a second glance showed how steady her grip was, how little emotion was present in her eyes even as she held the life of another human in her hands. So he quickly surrendered and put his hands up.

"Hiya, Sammy. Guess me saying 'I'm going alone' means nothing to you, does it?" Dean said nonchalantly, although inside his heart was pounding. What had his little brother gotten himself into by following him?

"Hey, Dean," He said, a small smile on his face. But Dean could see the fear that lay in his eyes. He knew just how fucked over they are. It was never good when they met humans on a case.

"I hate to break up this touching, brotherly moment," She said, her voice hard. "But its time to get this show on the road," She reached up and quickly cocked the gun, sending a little jolt of panic through his body.

"Let him go," He said through clenched teeth.

"Why? I said to come alone. Maybe, I should shoot him." She moved the gun from Sam's temple to under his chin, tracing it slowly down his cheek. The new position forced his head up. "I've been told the way to get to you Winchesters is to kill one. Although you don't seem to stay dead for long,"

Dean gulped. How had she learned about that? It wasn’t exactly like they were going around, telling people they had died. Multiple times.

He drew his attention back to the present when she pushed the barrel deeper into Sam's skin, eliciting a soft groan from his little brother. He needed draw her attention away from Sammy. He thought back to why they were here in this mess.

"What did you do to Cas?"

"Nice, changing the subject there. And love the nickname, by the way. 'Cas', as you say, is fine, for now.” She glanced at Dean and smiled. “As for why I’ve taken him. Well, I’m surprised neither of you recognized me.”

Dean looked closer. He could feel a hint of recognition, something in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t place it.

She quickly cocked her gun, laughing at Sam’s flinch. “It doesn't matter right now, anyways. I suggest you do exactly as I say, or Cas, and your brother, may not stay alright for very long." Her finger shifted a little on the trigger.

"It doesn't seem like I have much of a choice, now, does it?" She simply smiled at him, before taking a hand off the gun to reach into Sam's pockets. His brother, unlike him, was still wearing the suit. He must not have had time to change when he 'went to the store' when Dean left.

She pulled the rosary out of his pocket. The silver cross was marred with dried blood, the wooden beads also red. "I see you found my husband's crucifix. I thought it was a nice detail to add. And the holy oil? Your faces when you figured it out," She laughed lightly. Dean felt his stomach flip. She had been watching them? How psychotic was this bitch?

As she slipped the necklace over her neck, Dean nodded quickly to Sam, giving him the signal, before stepping forwards and moving to draw. But before he could, her hands came down on Sam's head. The weight of her gun’s handle hit him full force, and he crumpled to the ground.

Dean quickly stepped closer to pull the gun from her hand, but saw how it was pointing directly at his fallen brother. She looked back up at him, smiling wickedly. She pointed downwards with gun, indicating he should kneel. And, taking a steadying breath, he did.

Finally, he understood the recognition. It had been a few years, but she didn’t look all that different.

“You’re Amelia Novak, aren’t you?” His voice was low, but also full of regret. The pieces slowly fell into place. Why she had targeted Cas, the angel wings.

But the last time they had met her, she was as neighborly as they come. How had she turned into this?

“Good job, Dean. I guess that probably answers your questions,” her voice was full of venom as she spoke.

Truthfully, Dean didn’t blame her. They had forcibly taken her husband away from her, exposed both her and her daughter to demons, angels. He couldn’t blame Cas for his less-than-friendly-tactics. He had just come back from heaven, having been ‘re-educated’, whatever that means. But he and Sam? They should have done something. He still regrets it to this day.

But that didn't give her the right to threaten his brother. And no one hurts Sammy.

The younger hunter was still on the ground with the gun pointed at him. Dean saw another chance as she instead rounded the gun towards him. He reached up for the barrel and twisted it from her grip. However, before he could flip it around and get his finger on the trigger, a fist hit him in the side of the head. He let go of the gun, falling to the ground next to his brother. His head jolted down painfully into the concrete floor.

The edges of his vision were blackening, but he could still make out that her gun was back in her hand.

"You know, you are just so predictable. I was almost hoping you two would put up more of a fight, but I guess beggars can't be choosers" Dean snaked a hand behind his back, one last ditch effort, gripping the handle of his own gun once again. A swift kick connected to his side, and as he curled around his hurt ribs, the woman took the gun from his waistband.

"It has taken me years to get here, and finally my revenge is beginning. You know, Cas is the one who is going to pay for you not following instructions, Dean. You should have listened to me." He saw her quickly draw her leg back, before kicking it back out towards his head. A sharp pain radiated from his temple, then everything went black.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter Six!
> 
> No warnings for this chapter.

Chapter Six   
_A couple hours later_   
_Warehouse just outside of Pontiac, Illinois,_

The sound of tires screeching on pavement greeted Sam. He blearily opened his eyes, blinking the sleep and grit out of them.

He expected to see a crappy motel room, with disgustingly-colored wallpaper, Dean watching some old western movie while putting on his shoes. To feel the springs beneath him and to cringe at the unknown stain right beside his head on the pillow. Not to be lying on some damp cement floor. Although that really wasn’t that 'off-the-beaten-trail' for them either.

He forced his eyes to look through the darkness, searching out movement. He needed to secure the area, and then gain his bearings. He quickly looked around the building, confirming that there were no immediate threats.

The warehouse was large, but empty. From his position on the ground, he couldn't see anything except shadows.

A feather-light feeling crawled down his cheek. He quickly sat up, wiping his hand across his face. Even in the dim light, he could tell that the dark liquid was blood. His blood.

He thought back to before he had been knocked unconscious. He could remember the pink cell phone at the college, the man with the wings. The voice of the women while they called her, praising them for solving her puzzles.

Then, leaving the motel room after Dean threatened to tie him to a chair if he didn't stay. He will never tell his older brother how he can hide in the backseat of the Impala.

Walking around the back, and seeing the women. Her somehow getting the jump on him. Then a gun pointed at his temple.

After that everything is fuzzy, but he can pretty much figure out that she hit him on the head. Hence the blood. But that left a question: what had happened to Dean?

He slowly stood up, mindful of any fast moves in case he became dizzy. He'd had too many close calls with the ground after getting a concussion to ever do that again.

The shadows that had covered the warehouse were lighter now, less blanketing, and more light poured from the windows that lined the side wall. It must be close to dawn, meaning he had been out of the count for at least five hours, maybe more.

That meant the woman could be three states over by now, with both Dean and Cas. And he had no doubt she took him. Dean would never leave him, alone and unconscious on the floor of an abandoned warehouse, unless he left against his will.

He slowly started walking towards the door. Maybe the Impala would still be there?

About ten feet beyond where he had awakened, he spotted a few stains on the ground. He bent down, praying to everything, but couldn't deny what it was: blood. Not his. He had never been in this spot, and he had his own puddle on the cement. This had to be from the woman. Or Dean.

He forced himself to calm down. This was a woman, who couldn't have been more than five and a half feet tall. There is no way she could have gotten the drop on Dean.

Although if she had a gun to his head; he knew first hand just how much Dean would do to keep him safe.

He noticed something else illuminated in a patch of sunlight. A glint of silver, shining a few feet away.

He walked over, and bent down to pick it up. He wrapped his hand around the handle, felt the cold from the metal seep into his skin.

It was a gun. Not Dean’s or his own. Those were more ornate. This was a much more ‘standard issue’ pistol.

It was all black, except for a a simple inlaid cross on the handle.

This had to be the woman’s gun. And if he had her gun, he could figure out who she is, why she’s targeting them.

And that meant he can find Dean and Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter one today, but stayed tuned for the next update tomorrow! (Hint: Dean and Cas are in it!)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Here's Chapter Seven!
> 
> Non-graphic torture

Chapter Seven  
_A couple hours later,_  
_The Novak's,_  
_Pontiac, Illinois_

The first thing Dean heard when he came to was dripping. A low, wet sound that often accompanied boiler rooms and rainy forests. The second was a clanking of chains.

He was in deep shit.

He tried to open his eyes, but the layer of blood which had dried on them made it difficult. After a few seconds, and a little more salt water than he would ever admit to Sam, he managed to pry his eyelids apart. And then, all the memories of the past three days came running back.

Where the hell is Sam?

He quickly blinked a few more times, trying to clear his vision. The thing that struck him the most was how damn bright it was. It looked like he was on an acid trip, everything shifting and swaying like a psychadelic music video from the '60s. He moved his hand to wipe away some of the grit in his eyes, but was greeted with another clanking sound, and a pressure on his wrist that bound them together.

Well, just fucking fantastic. Its never good being tied up, especially with manacles. Only the most archaic, or deeply disturbed, monsters used those, and he was betting that this woman was on the side of the latter.

He wiggled his toes a little in his boot, cursing softly when he discovered that his knife was gone. What kind of person takes off another man's shoes?

Once a bit of the initial adrenaline rush had worn off, he was greeted by a pounding headache. The kind that makes you want to simultaneously chop off your head while vomiting your brains out.

Yep, definite concussion. Probably caused by him smacking his head on the pavement. Or the boot that went flying into his temple.

Another sound went through the small space, which he assumed was someone's basement. It was similar to that of the chains, but softer, farther away. He blinked a couple more times, trying to make out more of the blurry blob in the center of the room.

He could just see black dress pants, white t-shirt and socks. A pair of hands wearing manacles that looked similar to how his felt. And a voice. A deep, gravelly voice that filled him with more hope than he would ever admit to himself.

It was Cas. The angel was calling his name, craning around to try and look at him. He quickly sized up the handcuffs, realizing they were only bound to each other and not the wall. He pulled his linked hands under his legs until they were in front of him, then stood up.

And in that second, he was more certain this entire thing was one big, mushroom-fueled fantasy. The world tilted on its axis, its colors rapidly shifting and brightening. He strained to hear Cas' voice, trying focus on that to bring him out of this dream world. It seemed to work, him taking a step towards the bound angel.

After a few minutes of careful walking, he managed to reach the man. He took in how the manacles were chained together, how that chain run through a beam in the ceiling. Although, he could also see where one weak link was warped by the weight Cas had put on it, bending until it was almost broken. It took awhile, but soon he was able to manipulate the chain until it was split into two parts.

"Dean, are you alright?" Cas' voice was worried as he stood in front of his friend. His swaying and slightly-glazed gaze couldn't have escaped the angels notice.

"I'm fine, Cas," Although the unsteady step forward he took betrayed his words. Another attempt sent his knees buckling, and soon Cas was the only thing holding him upright. "Its just a little concussion,"

His vision blurred more, the shapes that were so bright before dimming. He could hear his friend's worried voice, his hands shaking him roughly, but it was distant. Slowly the light left the world as it was replaced by black. He could still feel the warmth from Cas' hands, but he was floating. It was as though dark waters were bouying him up. But soon they were grabbing at him, trying to catch hold and pull him under. He tried to struggle against it, but his body refused to move and he could feel himself sinking.

Warmth replaced the cold and filled him. He could feel himself being dragged from the inky depths. Slowly the angel's worry-creased face come into view, his eyes glowing blue from grace. The world stopped spinning, and everything was no longer blurred. He also noticed his hands were no longer cuffed together.

But the second after his friend's mouth slightly upturned in as much of a smile he would give, it contorted into a mask of pain. 

"Cas? CAS!" He yelled, as the angel stumbled. A sharp burst of noise bounced around the room, Cas' true voice. What the fuck was happening?

He forced his still-tired limbs to move as Cas' knees buckled. He slowly lowered him to the ground and onto his back. His eyes rolled up into his head until only the whites showed, and his body was taunt, every muscle in him clenched against whatever pain he was feeling. A few horrible moments went by when nothing happened, and he could only sit there watching. Pained gasps filled the heavy silence of the room.

He looked down, unsure what to do. He had no idea what was causing this, or how to fix it. A soft blue light drew his attention away from Cas' anguished face. He quickly looked down at where appeared to be coming from, under Cas' right arm. Only it wasn't coming from under his arm, but in it.

A sigil had been carved deep into the middle of his forearm. It was still open, dripping both blood and grace.

This had to be what was causing all.. this. He didn't know much about sigils, but he did know that if they were broken, whatever effect they had would also be broken. He needed something to cut with.

His gaze shifted a little lower, to Cas' wrists, where the manacle were still. Both thick metal loops were tight around his wrists, more sigils carved deep into them. The two halves of the chain were hanging from them.

He gripped his friend's left arm, pulling it up onto his chest. He then grabbed the end of the chain, muttering a quick apology before drawing the sharp broken edge across the mark. The moment the sigil was broken, all the tension fled Cas' body, and he lay limply on the floor with his eyes closed. He almost looked peaceful.

He breathed a sigh of relief, before quickly looking up. Now that Cas seemed stable for the moment, and he was mostly concussion-free, he took another look at his surroundings. It was one of the first thing his dad had taught him about hunting: when in an unfamiliar situation, assess your surroundings.

It was obvious they were in someone's basement, probably the women's. Both he and Cas were inside a large, makeshift cage made out of metal fence. It extended from the floor up to the ceiling, both ends secured deep into the concrete. A large door, made out of the same material, was locked by a padlock on the outside. He wouldn't be able to reach it through the holes, much less pick it with no tools.

Dean stood up, pulling hard on the sides of the cage. They barely budged. She was good. This wasn't some half-assed plan, judging by the man, the blood, the phone.

Amelia Novak. He still couldn't comprehend that that women, who had been the kind of person to bake cookies to welcome a new neighbor, had captured both him and an angel of the lord, then proceeded to put whatever-the-hell kind of sigil that was on Cas' arm. Not to mention the sigils also carved into his manacles. Not to mention she has fucking manacles.

A low groan pulled him back to the floor by his friend. Cas' eyelids fluttered, cracking open and showing a sliver of blue. Dean reached a hand under his neck, scooching them both back until they could lean against the chain link walls.

"What the hell was that, Cas?" He asked, looking deep into his eyes. The angel shifted, groaning again as he stretched his muscles.

"The sigil, it was binding my grace, but in a deeper, more entangled way than any I've ever-" A shudder ran through his body, the words probably bringing up memories he’d rather forget. "-felt. When I used my grace to heal you, instead of preventing it, i-it started to tear it apart,”

Dean looked over at him in shock. What he described-

"Are you alright now? It didn't, like, mess you up or anything, right?" He asked, worried.

"Now that the sigil is broken, it is no longer anchored in my grace. Although the other wards around the room will prevent me from doing anything more draining than healing minor injuries, and it may take me some time to recover," He stood up, wrapping his arms tightly around his body as another shudder wracked his body. No, not shudder. Shiver, Dean realized.

"Are you cold?" Dean asked, also standing.

"I am not wearing the appropriate c-clothes for this t-temperature. My grace is t-too drained to maintain my body's i-internal-." He was cut off by another shiver, unable to fully form the rest through his chattering teeth.

Dean had barely noticed how cold it was in the basement, through his beginning haze and the following ordeal. But Cas was dressed only in a white undershirt, and pants. He must be freezing.

He quickly shucked off his green utility jacket, ignoring the wash of cool air against his now bare arms, before holding it out to Cas. The angel gingerly took it, pulling it through his arms and wrapping the front tightly.

"Thank you, Dean," He said, his voice low. If Dean didn't know any better he may have said the angel was embarrassed.

Then Dean thought back to the first hazy moments when he had woken up, and panic seared through his body. "Have you seen Sammy?"

Cas tilted his head for a second, before shaking it minutely. "I assumed you had just followed her instructions and came alone. I haven't see Sam since I've left here."

Dean forced his breathing to calm. It was good that he wasn't here. It meant he was probably back in the warehouse, trying to find them.

Or he was dead.

It was that moment when the sound of a door swinging open reached them, followed by creaking footsteps down the stairs. Dean looked over at Cas, and was once again suprised by the amount of emotion on his face. He looked scared.

Dean took a deep steadying breath, before plastering on a grinning façade. She couldn't know how terrified he really was.

"Well, its about time, bitch"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was the first chapter I felt truly happy with. What does everyone else think?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! First, a huge shout out to Hello_Trash. Your comment was amazing. Thank you so much! 
> 
> Now, onto Chapter Eight!
> 
> Warnings:  
> Non-graphic torture.

Chapter Eight   
_The Novak's,_   
_Pontiac, Illinois_

"Well, its about time, bitch" Dean said, walking over to the door. Amelia stood just outside the chainlink walls.

"Hello, Dean." She looked over at Cas, who returned her gaze warily. Dean was still unnerved by the amount of fear that shone on his normally placid face. "Castiel,"

She didn’t seem bothered by the fact they were both unrestrained.

Dean took a step to the side without realizing it, protecting some of Cas with his body. Just call it his big brother instinct.

"I see. And all this time I thought you were ‘just friends’.” She took another step closer “And he's wearing your jacket. Cute."

She took a key from her pocket and fit it into the padlock. Dean took a step forward, prepared to charge her once the door opened. She couldn't be more than 5'5", and she was going to take him on without a weapon and with him unrestrained? He would take her down easy.

Just as she swung the door open, he leapt towards her. A few quick, disjointed words left her mouth, before a scream hit his ears. Cas' scream. Her words were Enochian.

Dean quickly fell back to Cas' side. The angel was on the ground, leaning heavily against the wall of the cage. He let out another scream, this time edged with his true voice. A small stream of blood leaked from his nose. Shit.

"What are you doing to him, you son of a bitch?" Dean yelled at her. She just continued to stand there, smirking.

"A couple sigils, a little spell I picked up over the years." She replied. "Works wonders on angels, keeps them in line." She gave a pointed look at Dean, "Or their pets."

Across the room, a series of sigils glowed blue. She must have activated them with her words.

Dean tried shaking Cas, but when his eyes slid open, they were hazy. He opened his mouth to say something, but another scream came out instead. His ears must be bleeding by now.

"Stop, just, fucking stop this," Dean said. They had just had to deal with this. He wasn't sure how much more his friend could take.

"Say please," He could hear the smugness in her voice.

"What?"

"Say. Please."

Dean took a deep breath. He couldn't think of himself, not with Cas in so much pain. "Please. There I said it. Now stop."

“I think you could do better. Really try and make it sound sincere this time.”

God this woman was getting on his nerves. He pushed down indignation at her comments, and tried to sound as sincere as possible. “Please, just stop whatever you’re doing to him,”

The women gave him a pointed look and sighed. "Would have thought it would take a little more to make Dean Winchester swallow his pride like that." Dean would have sent a glare her way, but he was too focused on Cas.

He heard a few quick words of Enochian, and Cas' eyes fluttered closed. He could feel his earlier pained gasps turning into deep breaths. He himself breathed a deep sigh of relief.

He turned his attention back to Amelia. She reached into her back pocket, pulling out another pair of handcuffs. He moved to stand, but she clicked her tongue, pointing down.

"I would suggest you follow everything I say, or Cas will be... well, he will not be happy, to say the least." Suppressing a groan, Dean sat back down next to Cas.

Amelia walked over to him, crouching. He could feel her hot breaths on his cheek as she reached behind him and clicked on the handcuffs. This time they were also linked through a pole on the wall. Even after he was restrained, she just sat there for a few moments. Then she put her lips right beside his ear, whispering,

"You know, I put both of those sigils there as punishment, from your earlier disobedience in the warehouse." She trailed her mouth down his neck until it was resting on his pulse point. "I wouldn't hesitate to do it again."

She stood back up, moving over to Cas. Despite her warnings, Dean struggled against the cuffs. The angel had a trail of blood from his nose to his lips, and his eyes were open but hooded. She quickly yanked Dean's jacket off his shoulders.

She then reached down, covering the broken part of the chain with her palm. A few more foreign words were spoken, and she pulled her hand away. The two manacles were now linked together, as whole as they had been before he broke them. Cas still lay on the ground in a twisted mess of limbs, groaning and shifting to sit up.

"Get away from him, you bitch," Dean said, struggling as he watched her pull an angel blade from her waist and hold it against Cas' throat. That was when the angel was finally fully aware, leaning as far back into the wall as possible.

"Amelia, I-" Cas started. His adam’s apple bobbed dangerously close to the blade.

"Don't. Speak." Her voice held so much venom, and that combined with the knife at Cas' throat made his own blood run cold. This was no longer the churchgoing mom they had met years ago. The women in front of them was out for revenge.

She flipped the angel around until his back was facing her, his face pressed into the chainlink of the cage. He could almost taste the terror from his friend as she placed the knife at the top collar of his undershirt. He struggled to get away, pushing against the wall, but she pushed the blade down harder, little spots of blood welling on the shirt. She leaned in close.

"I have a gun on my thigh. Unless you want a couple holes in your pet hunter, I suggest you keep still," Cas quickly shifted his eyes over to Dean, saw how totally he was restrained, and forced his body to go limp. The women started cutting his shirt down the middle, taking as long as possible.

"You know, those bodies, the 'rougarou victims'? That was all me. A chainsaw really can do wonders." A couple moments of horrible silence filled only by the slow ripping of the shirt went by before she spoke up again. "That college, in Bloomington? That was where Claire wanted to go." Cas gasped. She must have nicked him, Dean thought. "And the wings? The wings were a masterpiece. You turned as pale as a ghost, Dean. ”

Cas turned his head toward Dean, confused. He didn’t know about the man at the college.

The women pulled the blade away from Cas, looking down at his form. “Soon, we'll get the real deal."

A bolt of understanding ran through Dean, and he whipped his gaze back to Cas. His shirt was completely torn in half, exactly like that man's had been. Cas started to struggle again, desperation making him forget her threat. Although her grabbing the gun and pointing it at Dean, pulling off the safety, and cocking it made him remember. Dean recognized the ivory handle, the engravings along the silver side; that was his gun. Dean took a few deep breaths, trying to push aside his anger.

"Have you completely fallen off your rocker, lady? As far as I can tell, angels don't have wings," The hunter gestured to Cas as much as he could with his arms bound. He just needed to believe that. Although, judging by the look on Cas' face...

"Castiel, why don't you explain?" Cas looked like he would rather do anything else, but the feel of the angel blade on his neck seemed to remind him he really didn't have much of a choice.

"Our wings, they exist on a different, ethereal, plane. It is possible to... f-force them out with the proper spell, but it is-" He took a deep breath, "They are a direct link to our grace."

Shit. That did not sound good. And by the way Cas’ voice shook, it was probably worse than he thought. Amelia quickly cut through the sleeves of the shirt, and pulled what remained off him, throwing it behind her.

"You know, a few years ago, if you had said I would have the angel who murdered my husband at my mercy, his neck against his own blade, I would have said you were insane. It has taken me years of research, gaining knowledge on how to maim the exact same beings I had prayed to on the night of our wedding, on the day Claire was born. But it was all worth it, to see you here, beaten and trembling before me." She in close, brushing hair behind her ear before whispering into it. Dean could barely make out her words. "I can't wait to clip your wings,"

“Don’t you dare touch him, bitch,” he shouted, tugging harder at his binds.

Cas simply took a deep shuddering breath. And then he whimpered Dean's name. Yes, whimpered. Castiel, angel of the fucking Lord, 'I raised you from Perdition and can throw you back in', whimpered. And it killed the hunter. To see his friend in so much fear, pain, and for him to be the cause of it. If he hadn't been dumb enough to get caught, Amelia would have no leverage, and Cas could just fly out of here.

Without anything more than a quick nod and terrifying smile, the women dug the blade deep into the bare skin of Cas' back. Dean could just make out that she was carving something from his angle.

It felt like hours, but truly it was only a few minutes. By the time her hand stopped moving, Dean's voice was rough from shouting, and Cas' screams quieted down into soft groans. Dean could see the blood running down the pale skin of Cas' back, along with a bit of blue shining. Amelia looked over her handiwork, grinning, before setting the blade down onto his skin one last time.

"And finally, my revenge is beginning," She said, touching her hand to her forehead, chest, and each shoulder to make the sign of a cross.

Although how she could possibly pray to God while torturing one of his soilders, messengers, whatever the hell the angels actually were...

She muttered one last thing, first a prayer in English, then a few words in Enochian, and quickly swiped the blade across Cas' back. This must have completed the final sigil. Cas' scream, this time edged with his true voice, was drowned out by a loud buzzing.

A flash of blue, grace-colored light encompassed him, and another blast of pure noise rose through the din.

Dean’s ears were definitely bleeding.

A few moments later, the light died down. Cas was curled on the floor, hands pressed tightly around his knees, hugging them to his chest. Amelia was several feet away and against the opposite cage wall, looking like she had the wind knocked out of her.

She quickly regained her composure, and stood up. Her hand fished through her pockets, before pulling out a phone. A quick click went through the basement. A flash of anger ran through Dean. Why the hell had she taken a picture of them?

She quickly reached down and grabbed the remains of Cas' shirt, and walked out of the cell, locking it behind her without a second glance at the angel. Just as she was leaving, Dean could see her hold the phone to her ear.

Dean turned his attention back to Cas. He could hear soft sounds, which he wanted to believe with all his heart was not sobbing, but couldn’t.

And then he looked at them. Cas’ wings. Even though they were curled tightly into the angel’s back, he could tell they were large. The feathers were a soft grey, dull and littered with iridescent green specks.

They were beautiful.

A line of blood ran between them, obscuring the sigils Amelia had carved between his shoulder blades. Grace shone blue from the cuts.

A few more seconds went by, and Cas finally uncurled himself, sitting up and leaning heavily against the wall. It looked painful to have his wings pinned like that. The metal pushed deep into the feathers, making them stick out through the holes.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean softly said, wanting nothing more than to comfort his friend. Cas turned, and Dean couldn’t help but gasp at the tears running down his face.

“Dean,” he whispered, and god, he sounded so damn broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for anyone who does not like wing-fics. Normally I don't either, but I wanted to make Cas vulnerable, and giving him wings seemed like the right choice. I was debating on whether they would be white or black and then I was like whatever and made them grey. 
> 
> Sorry for the long note.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. Back again with Chapter Nine! The response to this has been amazing, thank you guys so much! This one is a bit short, but we have another long one tomorrow, so hopefully that'll make up for it!
> 
> No warnings for Chapter nine.

Chapter 9   
_Several hours earlier,_   
_The Impala_

Sam listened to the rumble of the engine, willing it to comfort him. To wash away the pain he was feeling. He just had to focus on the gun. He has the gun.

He can find Cas and Dean.

He studied the piece sitting beside him. It seemed so simple, to hold so much power. It had been one big stroke of luck, something they didn't seem to get very often. The serials were still on the gun, so he just had to drive to the local PD, flash his badge, and ask for them to run it through the system.

But that didn't make this drive any less stressful.

He quickly reached over and flicked on the radio. As much as he thought it was selfish, he couldn't sit here and think about Dean any longer. He needed a distraction.

A man's voice burst from the speaker, suprising him. It wasn't from Dean's normal '90s rock channel, but the news. When had Dean changed the station? He was about to press the button again and shut it off, but a women's voice came on, and he stopped.

"Late yesterday, a man was found dead at Illinois Wesleyan College in McLean County. Michael Schwatrz, 46, was attending his college's 25 year reunion for the graduating class of '87." The voice continued on, detailing how he had died, and talking about his wife, who had to have been the woman in the pink dress.

"The Bloomington Police Department suspects the victim was a part of an occult ritual, judging from ornate carvings across his back." Well, they weren't that far off, thought Sam.

"There is a warning out for the Wesleyan campus, stating that 'no students should be out alone'. This is the fourth murder that has occurred at the college in the past week," Sam shut off the radio as the announcer faded into music. It didn't seem like they had been reported, and nothing was said that he didn't already know.

Now he just had to get to the station, and find out who has Dean and Cas.

_Now,_ _Bloomington PD_

Well, now he knows why every police officer he's ever met never actually checks up on them: the paperwork takes too damn long. They can just blame every crime scene they've sullied on the sucky parts of beaurocracy.

That's why he's sitting here in some hard chair in the corner of the station, while Dean could be bleeding out. Or being tortured. Along with Cas.

Even with his FBI badge, and every way to say 'people's lives could depend on this', they had still just told him to stick it and wait.

Apparently Bloomington's police force wasn't very worried about national security, saying as he had basically told them that the gun's owner was a terrorist threat.

He could see it from his chair, sitting on the officer’s desk in a plastic evidence bag. He’s probably on a lunch break or something equally mundane.

He forced himself to calm down-and, God, he sounded like Dean. He couldn’t do anything if he ended up punching a police officer.

He fiddled with the phone in his pocket, the one that belonged to this Claire. There was no way to trace it unless she called, and he didn’t feel comfortable letting the locals listen in on whatever she may say. Judging by the holy oil, this wasn’t just some random deranged human.

As if by just thinking about it, the cell rang. He fished it out of his pocket, looking at the caller ID. It simply said ‘Mom’, which meant it must be the woman. He cursed under his breath. He may not even need to run the serial if he knew who she was. The call brought up more questions. Why would she be calling him now? She has to have everything she wants, because otherwise she wouldn’t have left him in the warehouse?

After two rings, he presses the accept button, holding it to his ear. After a few seconds of eery silence, he says, “Hello?”

A voice responds back, one that he now knows belongs to the woman. How could he ever think she sounded innocent?

“Hello, Sam. I realized not that long ago that I made a mistake. I have planned this a long time, but I have to say, this is one contingency I don’t have covered.” Her voice was sickly sweet.

“And what was that?”

“My gun, of course. I wasn’t expecting to lose it, so I’ve had to think on the fly. I apologize, this won’t be well set, but it’ll work well enough,” something about the way she was talking threw a pit in his stomach.

“What’ll work?”

“Just a little leverage. For you to not run the gun through official channels. I would rather not have police involved.” He would have laughed at not having the police involved, like, what do you think happens when you brutally murder multiple people, but he was too worried about the leverage part.

She has Dean and Cas. Which meant he was screwed.

“What have you done to them?” He hated how his voice shook. How it didn’t sound quite as threatening as Dean’s.

“Nothing that they don’t deserve. Now, I would’ve taken you too, but two Winchesters didn’t seem smart. But I think this will serve as some of your punishment,”

With that the dial tone sounded. As he pulled the phone away from his ear, confused. Punishment? What did she mean, punishment?

A short beep sounded, and he looked down at the tiny display. Apparently, it had received a text message from ‘Mom’. He clicked into it, and his breath was stolen.

It was a picture. It showed a dark room, with a large cage made out of thin metal fencing. He could see one wall, and everything behind it was in darkness. But in front-

In front was hell.

He could see Dean, without his jacket, but with a nice bruise blossoming on his head. His hands were tied behind his back, even as he stretched against his bonds.

But the thing that really struck him was Cas. He was huddled on the ground, and Sam could just make out manacles on his wrists, linking them together. Although what really drew his attention was the wings.

They looked small, pressed tightly against the angel’s back, but he could tell they would be large spread out. A soft dark grey color, they were beautiful. But he couldn’t help noticing how defeated Cas’ posture was, how Dean’s face is twisted in a shout as he struggles to reach his friend.

They are in deep shit.

And the woman was right: she has some pretty damn good leverage.

He glanced over at the gun still sitting on the officer's desk. As much as he may want to, he couldn’t let them run it through the system, not when she had his brother and Cas at her mercy.

He quickly checked to make sure no one was around, before slipping the gun off the desk. He shoved it into his rumpled suit, standing and making for the exit as stealthily as possible.

After several long seconds, he was outside and in the clear. Leaning against the Impala, he quickly pulled out his own cell and started flipping through the contacts. Finding the one he wants, he clicks it and holds the phone to his ear.

She did say 'official' channels.

“I need your help,”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Due to the holidays, I may not be able to post everyday. I'll try my best but *parties*.
> 
> Chapter Ten warnings:  
> Aftermath of torture.

Chapter 10  
_The Novak's,_  
_Pontiac, Il_

Dean strained against the handcuffs, needing to reach Cas. Seeing him, bound on the floor, pushed whatever 'big brother' button he had in him. He could feel his shoulder shift and creak. A rational part of him said to stop, that he'd dislocate his arm, but watching Cas pushed that out of his mind.

Until Cas' voice broke the silence, hoarse and wavering.

"Dean, stop," He forced himelf to lean back, watching as Cas scooted closer.

"Cas-" He started, but the angel already knew what he was saying.

"You’re going to injure yourself. I'm fine, Dean." He bit out, although the soft groan he let out as he shifted betrayed his words. His wings were pinned against the metal. "Give me a minute. I think I may be able to access my grace. These sigils are weaker-" He squinted his eyes right in concentration.

"Cas, stop. The last time you did-" He was cut off by a blue glow. He watched as the handcuffs around his wrists disapeared. He cursed softly, looking over at Cas. The angel was in the same spot as before, although he was deathly pale.

"Don’t you, ever, do that again," He looked down at his now freed wrists. "Especially not for me." He stood up, moving to the center of the cage and grabbing his jacket. He brought it back to where Cas was sitting, wrapping it around his friend's shoudlers. They met each others eyes, and Cas' shone with gratefulness.

"So, can you mojo yours off?" He asked, nodding to Cas' manacles.

"No. The sigils are preventing my grace from reaching them. And 'mojoing' yours took what little grace I could muster." He let his head lean back. Dean looked at him worriedly, and sat down next to him.

"And your... wings?" He asked gently. He saw Cas' face fall and his eyes close.

"I- there's nothing to be done, Dean. I’ll just have to..." His voice was low and slowly faded off.

Dean didn't really understand. Yeah, the wings would be a little hard to deal with physically, but beyond that, they're just wings. They don’t warrant such a reaction. Cas seemed to feel his question, and let out a long sigh.

"An angel's wings, they're sacrosanct. Only other angels are supposed to see them, in Heaven. They're-they're pure." Cas' voice broke, and his shoulders fell more. Dean had never seen him looking so defeated. "But to have them manifested on the physical plane, it's not... right. They're directly linked to our grace. I-It's dangerous."

It makes sense. Angels wouldn’t want to show weakness, although Cas looked anything beyond weak, especially his wings. And even as he curled into his jacket. He looked up at Dean with hurt eyes.

“It’s alright, Cas. We’ll deal with it, like we always do.”

“But, you won’t-“ He choked on a sob, “-no, you can’t-” His words were disjointed, but Dean still understood, and it broke his heart.

“Your wings are beautiful,” He said gently. The angel glanced down at him.

“You’re wrong, Dean. They’re not-“ his voice fades off, and Dean could see his wings flutter beneath his jacket.

“There is nothing wrong with your wings, Cas.” The angel met his eyes, and he could see the disbelief in them.

“You don’t think I-I am a monster?” If Dean hadn’t been so worried about his friend, he would’ve punched him right then and there.

“Cas, you are not a fucking monster, and these wings don’t do anything to change that,” He took a deep, steadying breath and forced his voice to lower. “The only monster here is Amelia.”

Cas just looked at him, before shaking his head. “I made her into a monster. I forced her down this path. That doesn’t make me one myself?”

“Cas-“ he started, before the angel interrupted him.

“Dean, this is my fault, and my fault alone. I swore to Jimmy I would never harm his family, I swore that it was his decision and I would not influence him. Then I took Claire, used her against him. And on his last breath he said that I could possess him. He gave up heaven for an eternal life of misery, just to save his daughter, and I put him in that position.” He was practically hysterical, on his feet. Dean’s jacket had flung off his shoulders by his wings flapping open. They were flared out in either side of him. “Amelia was right; I ripped apart her family,”

“Cas, calm down.” Dean said, his arms out like he would to a spooked mare. “It wasn’t you. Remember? Zachariah had just fucking brainwashed you into believing humans were nothing more than insects. You weren’t thinking straight,” He saw Cas sway, and rushed forward to catch him as his knees buckled. He slowly let him down onto the floor.

He could feel the warmth of the feathers on his arms. They were soft, softer than he would have expected. He was just about to say something when Cas scrambled away.

His face was a mask of emotion, fear the most prominent.

As soon as he hit the back wall, the terror was wiped off his face. He slowly sank to the floor.

“I apologize, Dean. These wings... they bring up unpleasant memories.”

“Cas, none of this is your fault. Amelia, your wings. None. Of. It. So don’t you dare apologize,” Dean bit out, before forcing himself to relax. “Sorry,”

Cas just nodded, before his eyes slid back to the ground. “You really don’t think I’m a monster?” He asked warily.

Dean just sighed before grabbing his jacket off the ground and laying it over Cas like a blanket and sitting down.

“I would never think you are a monster, Cas. No matter what happens.” Cas nodded, although he didn’t look entirely reassured.

“I’m really going to kill that bitch. And not quickly,” he muttered under his breath.

He thought he saw Cas lips turn up in a small smile. Cas’ shoulder brushed his as he leaned closer. Dean could just feel a wing touching his back lightly.

He will get them out of this. He will. Even if it’s the last thing he ever does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, the Destiel in this is all implied, but if you want to believe that it's there, go ahead. While writing this, I was imagining that they had crushes on each other, but didn't even realize it themselves.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Here is Chapter Eleven!
> 
> Warnings:  
> Graphic torture,  
> Mentions of past self-harm, child abuse, and suicide

Chapter 11  
_The Novak’s,_  
_Pontiac Illinois_

When Dean woke up and felt a body next to him, he expected it to be a beautiful woman. He expected to run his hand over smooth skin or silky hair. Not for there to be soft feathers beneath his fingers.

He quickly sat up, moving back a little. Cas was still asleep, his eyes closed. Dean’s jacket had served as a blanket over both of them, along with one of Cas’ wings.

Sam would never hear of this.

He looked around the large cage, finding everything just as it had been before they fell asleep. Four bare walls and an even barer floor.

Although now his stomach groaned loudly. He would kill for a hamburger right about now. And some pie.

Cas shifted, his eyes fluttering open as he woke up. He seemed calm for a second, before his gaze focused and his wings flapped wildly.

“Cas, calm down.” He said softly. That seemed to do the trick, the angel snapping back into reality and slumping back against the wall.

“These wings- I had a- what you humans would call a nightmare,”

If Cas hadn’t looked so defeated, Dean may have laughed. The idea that Castiel, the mighty angel, would have a nightmare was absurd. But the seriousness of the situation took out whatever humor he felt. The fact that Cas could sleep, let alone dream, showed how poorly he was doing.

Just as he was about to say something, creaking footsteps interrupted him. Amelia. She was coming.

“Do you always cuddle like that, Dean?” She said condescendingly. Dean just gave her the best glare he could muster.

“Is that how you get your jollies? Watching people sleep?” He moved to stand, before Amelia clicked her tongue.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Those sigils are still up, and I would hate to see Cas in more pain.” Although her voice put a different meaning on her words. Dean groaned inwardly before lowering back to the ground in front of Cas. He could hear the angel’s slightly panicked breaths behind him.

She opened the padlock and walked into the cage, casually locking it behind her. “I have been waiting for this day a long time, Cas,” she started pace around them. “To finally get my revenge. I spent years imagining this moment. There is so many different ways to cause you pain. But recently, I realized that the worst way to cause you pain is to inflict it on someone you love,”

He tensed, and heard Cas shift a little behind him, his fear practically wafting through the air. “Amelia, I know that what I have done is unforgivable. But you don’t have to-“ the angel was cut off by her cold laugh.

“Don’t have to? Of course I don’t have to. But the thing is, I want to.” In that instant, Dean was more certain that she had gone crazy than ever before.

She reached behind her, grabbing a pair of handcuffs and holding them up. “I see Cas managed to help you slip them again? I’ve taken the precaution of engraving these with Enochian. He won’t be able to wish them away like the other ones.”

Just as she started walking over to him, he felt Cas tense behind him. Before he could say anything, the angel pushed him out of the way and launched himself at her in a rush of grey feathers. He managed to knock her to the ground, and the tumbled for a few seconds before he was able to pin her with his still manacled hands. They lay there, breathing heavily, for several seconds, before she whispered a single syllable in Enochian.

Dean watched as Cas let out a sharp groan, falling off her and leaning against the side of the cage clutching his head. The woman simply stood up, brushing herself off.

“That’s a little reminder to not provoke me again. And stay. Otherwise, your little hunter will pay for it. Dearly.” She flashed a grin at him, before muttering another word. Cas slumped down, shaking as the pain left him. He tried to move back towards Dean, away from the wall, but his hands were held there by an invisible spot.

“I just love how obedient halos are,” she laughed. The angel could only stare helplessly at Dean as she approached him again. “Don’t worry, I’ll get to you soon.

“Now, to solve our little restraint problem,” she said cheerfully, clicking one cuff around his right wrist and the other around the pole. Dean just glared at her, testing the cuff’s strength as she pulled away. “And on to the fun part.” She said laughing.

Dean looked quickly over at Cas, whose gaze was full of pain and remorse. He knew the angel blamed himself for everything, and it broke his heart. He focused again on Amelia as she bent down next to him. Her nimble fingers reached over and started to push the two halves of his plaid shirt off his shoulders.

“Normally, I like it when a girl ties me up and starts undressing me,” he said, flashing her a grin, which she didn’t return. She bent down, whispering into his ear.

“Trust me, Dean, you will not like this.” As she pulled away, she reached into her pocket. Out came a small blade, dull. It looked like it came from a pencil sharpener. “Remember, Cas, how I said you destroyed Claire? That she was taken away? That she died?” She looked down at her palm and the little sliver of metal.

“Amelia-“ he started, struggling against the invisible bonds.

Ignoring the angel, she quickly ran the edge just under Dean’s collarbone. Blood welled at the surface, and he swore under his breath as pain stung through his chest. “I never did tell you how.” She wiped the now-red blade on his shirt, before standing up an stalking over to Cas. The angel was still watching the exchange with wide eyes, his wings were tucked tightly against his back.

“Not that long ago, I was given a file that had everything the state knew about my daughter on it.” She took a crumpled paper from her pocket. Even from the distance, Dean could see how the paper had been wet. She looked down and began reading, her voice filled with sadness overshadowed by anger.

“March 6, 2009. Claire Novak, age 12. Placed with Molly and Joe McAnderson after mother, Amelia Novak, deemed psychologically unfit. McAnderson’s have another son, Brian McAnderson, age 16.” She wiped a lone tear that fell from her eye. “April 12, 2010. Brian McAnderson killed in accident with a driver under the influence. Parents being monitored for signs of depressive and aggressive thoughts.”

She took a deep breath. “Their family never recovered. They took it out on my daughter. They- they beat my baby girl.” Dean felt cold flood through him at her words.

“July 14, 2011. Claire McAnderson found with broken arm/wrist. Sent to General County Hospital from school after fainting in class. Possible abuse investigation pending.” She stopped for a long moment, seeming to collect herself as she clutched the paper, before continuing.

“November 7, 2012. Claire McAnderson committed suicide. Evidence of self-harm found on body. X-rays show multiple broken ribs, along with severe bruising.

“Molly and Joe McAnderson convicted of child endangerment, abuse, and neglect. Defendants posted bail and did not appear for appeal date. Investigation pending.”

She rubbed a quick tear off her face, crumpling the paper back into her pocket.

Cas glanced over at Dean, locking eyes and staring at each other in shock. If what she said was true, than it was their fault. Everything that had happened to this family was their fault. Their attention was turned back to Amelia as she walked back over to Dean. “All of this, is for her,”

She grabbed Dean’s chin, lifting it up to face her. She set the blade on his neck.

“She had cuts all over her body, that she put there herself,” she ran the blade lightly over his neck, barely drawing blood. She then moved it back to his color bone, slashing it deeply a few times. Red ran down his chest and onto the neckline of his tank top. She stood up, stuffing the blade into her back pocket.

“They abused her for two whole years. They broke her ribs, but never took her to the hospital.” She quickly kicked into his side, causing him to cry out. He could hear Cas’ protests across the room, but the woman continued to ignore him. A loud crack went through the room, and burning pain spread through his right side.

This wasn’t the first time he’s broken a rib, but it didn’t mean it hurt less like a bitch.

He looked up to her through watery eyes, taking deep breaths through the agony. He refused to make a sound and give her amusement from his pain. He could hear Cas shouting at her, begging.

“Amelia, please. It’s my fault! If you need to hurt someone, hurt me.” She just laughed, before continuing on with her story over the angel’s protests.

“She went through an entire day with her wrist dislocated and broken. It wasn’t until she fainted from pain she was taken out of class. When they took an x-ray, it showed her entire wrist bone shattered. She would have been in utter agony,”

Dean felt her grab his free arm, and he tried to writhe out of the grip. But the movement cause his ribs to shift and grate against each other. He couldn’t struggle too much, or he would puncture a lung. And here without any way to fix it, he could die.

He braces himself, feeling her twist and crush it slowly. A rush of fire ran up his entire arm, up into his shoulder. He could feel his wrist pop from the strain. He couldn’t bite back a scream this time. His vision danced in front of his eyes, black and white spots obscuring his surroundings.

He could feel her drop his wrist, shooting another spike through his arm. He watched as she stepped back, looking down at him.

“No more snark comments, Dean?” She laughed at his soft groan before continuing. “My baby Claire took her life. She was already dead when she arrived at the hospital, with two slit wrists.”

She retrieved the once-forgotten blade from her jeans, stalking to his beaten body. He saw Cas continue to struggle of the corner of his eye, his wings out and fluffed up.

“No! Dean! Amelia, stop!” He yelled. He looked into the wildness of the angel’s eyes, and he knew. He knew Cas thought he was going to die, and that it would be his fault. And they both know they can’t lose each other, no matter what happened to themselves.

He felt the cold metal rest against the skin just below his elbow, slowly drawing the edge down it. He could only watch as the blood welled to the surface.

It was too high, and not deep enough to kill him. But it was still deep, red running down his arm within seconds. He could hear Cas’ cry of dismay as Amelia stood up.

“This was for Claire. May my daughter’s troubled soul find peace in heaven,” she said, making the cross symbol again. She quickly unlocked the handcuff from the pole and redid it around his broken wrist. The movement caused a rush of pain through his body, and he groaned. She fished out her phone, taking a picture, and nodded before turning and walking out of the cage, locking it behind her.

Cas quickly scrambled over to his side the moment she was out of view, whatever enchantment holding him in place undone. Grabbing the discarded jacket off the floor, he wrapped it over his bleeding arm as best he could.

“I’m so sorry, Dean. I-“ He just shook his head.

“You did everything you could, Cas,” his voice started to fade out. He could feel the world start to spin. Probably dehydration combined with the blood loss.

He could see that Cas was there, could feel the angel’s hands shaking him, and hear his voice asking if he was alright, but it didn’t feel real.

He watched as the world slowly dissolved, into a sea of blackness without pain. And that was all he wanted: a world without pain.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Here's Chapter Twelve!
> 
> Warnings:  
> Graphic torture,  
> References to past torture.

Chapter 12   
_The Novak’s,_   
_Pontiac, Illinois._   
_Strong arms held him in place, forcing his knees to buckle and hit the ground. He watched as his garrison leader smiled at the sight._

_“Finally, Castiel, you are learning some respect.” He twisted Cas’ seraph blade between his fingers, moving around behind the kneeling angel. “Now you will pay penance for the sins you have committed.”_

_Cas tried to school the warring emotions inside him, to be an unfeeling soldier like all his other brothers. He had made a mistake, albeit a small one, but it still meant he had to pay penance. And he would take it with his head held high._

_He felt Zachariah’s hands twist into his feathers, and resisted the urge to shake them out. It felt so wrong, to feel another in his wings. He could sense the angel blade as it rested on the main bone more than he could actually feel it._

_He wouldn’t be able to describe the agony that came from the knife cutting into his wings. It cut through the ethereal feathers and skin. It cut through into his very grace, making the smallest of incisions onto the heavenly blue that powered him. He couldn’t hold back a scream._

_That feeling, that helpless, hopeless feeling, made his lose whatever control he had maintained. He bucked under the other angel’s grip, trying desperately to get free. But their hold was solid, and he couldn’t do anything but scream as Zachariah’s hand stroked the long feathers._

_“Please, brother, please-“_

“-Don’t touch them,” his voice rang out, scared and frightened. He slowly opened his eyes, taking in the cage they were in. He forced his heart to calm down, his breaths to slow. He wasn’t in heaven. It had just been another nightmare, just another nightmare. He couldn’t give in to his memories, not when Dean needs him.

He looked over at the hunter, his friend, leaning against the far wall. The blood had dried on his chest. His broken arm was green and yellow from bruises which had formed less than 24 hours ago. There was also red from the deep cut under his elbow. He needed medical attention, something he couldn’t provide.

He hated this cage, hated the way everything Amelia does is made to target his own guilt, his own feeling of uselessness.

He had come terms that this was his penance, this was his way to pay for the crimes he committed against her family. But Dean has nothing to atone for. Dean did nothing to deserve this.

He could feel his grace writhing beneath its unsuitable cage, pushing against the bars he had locked around it. He couldn’t risk using it, not with those sigils on the wall and a vulnerable human in here with him.

He watched as Dean began to stir, moaning softly. He could imagine the pain running through him as his body forced him into consciousness, and wished more than anything he could send the hunter into another deep slumber.

Forest green eyes appeared beneath tired and bruised lids. Cas watched as the pupils slowly dilated, adjusting to the minimal light in the room. Dean moved to shift slightly, and groaned loudly.

He quickly jumped to his feet, walking over to where the hunter was still restrained. He could feel his wings dragging on the ground. As much as he wanted to forget them, it hurt to feel the rocks pressing against his soft feathers. He put a little effort into keeping the tips away from the floor. He could feel a rush of memories coming, threatening to bury him, but pushed it away. He had to focus on Dean, because right now Dean needs him.

“Try not to move, Dean. It will only exacerbate your injuries,” He watched as the hunter’s eyes narrowed and focused, before he slowly nodded.

“I’m going to kill that bitch,” Dean said, his voice painfully hoarse. All the yelling, combined with the lack of liquids.

It had been at least two days since Dean ate or drank. That was too long. Even he himself could feel the ever-present feeling of thirst on his tongue.

He sighed, angry about how useless he was. At full strength, without his grace bound, he would be able to alleviate Dean’s hunger and thirst, break them out of this prison.

Although, he almost didn’t want to think about the future, about what their life would be like beyond this cage. Dean had seen a different part of him, a part that he had kept carefully sequestered away. The part of him that was still a scared little fledgling, scolded at every turn for disobedience. His wings brought back painful memories, ones he did not want the hunter exposed to.

He was interrupted by Dean coughing, every bout interrupted by a sharp gasp. A few seconds later he managed to catch his breath and keep it. A single tear ran a path down his face. He could feel Dean’s annoyance at his hands being bound and not able to wipe it off. So, he moved his own hand and brushed the hunter’s cheek and disrupting the tear’s path. Dean just laid back, muttering under his breath. “Sam will never hear of this.”

A quick burst of happiness ran through him, despite their circumstances. And for a second he forgot the heavy weight pulling at his back, the even heavier one on his shoulders. In this moment, despite all odds, he felt joy. He didn’t understand these human emotions, brought forth because of his wings.

The scene was quickly interrupted by their cell door opening and slamming shut. Amelia strode in, her hand clutched around his angel blade. Dried blood covered the tip, remnants from wherever it had come from two days ago. He could feel anger rising in his blood at the unclean state his blade was being kept in. She stopped a few feet away from them, smiling.

“Well, look at the two lovebirds.” He could feel Dean tense next to him, pulling lightly at his cuffs.

“Don’t talk about him like that.” Dean said, still managing to defend him despite his pain. Cas felt his heart constrict with a feeling of joy.

“Oh, Dean. Things are about to get so much worse for our little feathered friend,” If it had been any other person, and if he had been in any other condition, he would have smite her right there. But with these new feelings warring inside him, all he could feel was fear as she focused on him.

He saw Dean tug on the chain again, and put his hand out onto the hunter’s uninjured shoulder.

“Dean, don’t move.” He could see the anger burning in his friend’s eyes, but Dean did heed his request.

He turned his attention back to Amelia, who was standing and leaning lazily against the cage wall.

“What are you going to do?” He said, surprised by the steadiness his voice held. She looked at him curiously, before stalking forwards.

“I have repaid your debt to Claire, but not yet to Jimmy. He was forced to be your vessel for two years, an eternity, he said. He died because of you. I tried to figure out what would be the worst pain to inflict on you for that.

“It’s not necessarily physical. It’s your own mind, it’s your betrayal to heaven. It’s your pride and free will. Take that away from you, and you will fall.” He could feel his breath catching in his throat. “And how do you take away a halo’s freedom?” She took a menacing step forward, continuing to twirl her knife. “You clip their wings.”

He could feel Dean begin tugging on the chains behind him, his own reflexive movement to pull his wings closer to his back. If she did do something to his wings, it could permanently harm his grace. He may not be able to fly, to heal, to do anything angelic until after they healed.

And the healing process itself; stuck on Earth, unable to reach heaven, his grace cut off.

The last time...

“Don’t you fucking touch him, you bitch,” Dean spat at her, still pulling against the chains. Ignoring the hunter, she reached down and grabbed one of his wing bones. He struggled against her grip but-

_-his hand was tight into his feathers, an unbending fist of steel. He could feel his other fingers intertwining between the gray down. Zachariah leaned in close to his ear, whispering-_

“This will make you pay for your crimes against me, Castiel,” she said, before throwing him against the floor. He hit the ground hard, laying on his stomach for a second, dazed. He felt her put a boot the small of his back.

Any indignation he felt was swept away by fear as she-

_-he ran hands through the feathers. He could still feel the heavy shoe digging into his spine, but forced himself to be still._

_“You really just don’t learn, Castiel? You sin, you must pay penance.” He could feel Zachariah grab one of his longer quills, twisting slowly. He couldn’t hold back a cry of agony as it pulled free. “Your wings are beautiful. Such a pity-“_

“-I have to break them.” He fought against the onslaught of memories that played through his head. The world was shifting back and forth between the present and many, many of his distant pasts.

She pushed a couple feathers out of the way, looking closer.

“You have-“

_“-scars. I’m so glad you are learning, that you don’t have to wear any more. Maybe you will one day you could even command a battalion of your own.” He could feel his feathers ruffle in pride, despite the sickly feeling he got from the praise._

_Those scar aren't his fault, he didn't cut the lines into his skin. Zach did. His own brother did. In payment for angel's lives lost that he caused._

“-scars? Am I not the first one who’s had the pleasure?” She shifted the foot off his back, moving to the side. He breathed deeply, thankful for the short reprieve of pressure. He tried to pull his wings back in, but felt them held spread on the floor like a specimen. Another soft fingertip brushed down, and he thought he could hear Dean shouting through the haze.

Soft hands sliding between his feathers, drifting softly over the bones. They shifted to between his shoulder blades. They were cold, and it made him flinch. The sharp rattle of chains resounded on the walls.

“Now, this? This is my vengeance, but it is also your penance. It’ll all be over soon, angel.” He almost found comfort in her words as a sharp crack went through his body. And then-

_-agony._

fire.

_Racing through his grace, and tearing a deep-_

-divide into his blue. A-

_-fissure that split his soul in two as surely as the-_

-bones in his wings. He could hear her-

_-him laughing as he screamed._

And then, he prayed to God.

_to his father._

He prayed for

_courage,_

forgiveness.

_He prayed_

for it to all

_just_

end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger... Next part posted tomorrow!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Chapter thirteen!
> 
> Warnings:   
> References to past torture

Chapter 13   
_The Novak’s,_   
_Pontiac, IL,_

Even through the pain, he could hear that crack. That crack echoed through the room. That crack echoed in his heart.

He continued to struggle against his binds, ignoring the sharp agony that ran through his shoulder and side.

The angel who had begged to be tortured instead of him. The angel who focused on him not causing himself more pain instead of the woman abusing him.

Now that angel lay broken on the floor, just out of his reach. He was yelling, he realized belatedly. The woman simply pulled out her phone, taking a quick picture before walking away.

Cas was looking towards him, but not actually seeing him. His blue eyes were glazed over, tracking invisible figures behind him.

He tried to escape his bonds again, taking a deep breath. He knew what he had to do, as much as he didn’t want to.

He remembered his father teaching him that it was a last resort, something to only be done if Sam was in danger. But watching the seraph who saved his life become untethered to reality in front of his eyes? That was worse than any torture Amelia could inflict on him.

He took another deep breath, before flexing his wrist down. Even that simple movement sent a sharp spike of pain through his arm. At least he wouldn’t have to break it himself.

He pulled as hard as he could up. He could feel his bones break more, and grabbed his outer shirt with his teeth to keep from screaming.

But his left hand was free, and he was able to hook it under Cas’ arm and pull him closer.

Now that the angel was near, he could see the deep bruising already appearing on his back in the shape of boot prints.

And the wing.

Grey feathers were marred with red, the bone twisted at an odd angle. It hit the skin above it at a sickening angle.

Little pained gasps kept escaping through Cas' clenched teeth, although he was still lost to other worlds in his mind. Steadily, the purple on his back became more pronounced. That damn woman knew exactly what to target: Cas' pride and past.

Even more worringly, scars began to appear alongside the bruises. They twisted off his wings, trailing down between his wings. The sigils Amelia had cut there obstructed the lines, scabbed and inflamed. Beyond that, though, they were perfectly straight. Four marks of scar tissue, slowly gaining color from the pale skin, ran between his wings from the bottom of his neck to his midback. They were varying lengths, although most were within an inch of each other. 

Before, there had been a few scars on his wings, but now they were littered with them. Little patches where feathers were cut and grey was white.

Judging by their sudden appearence, the lines had something to do with his broken wings. Cas has said something about losing connection with his grace.

He forced his thoughts away from the scars. He needed to ground Cas back in reality, to pull him out of wherever he is. He placed his arm around his chest, pulling him to lean his back against the wall.

He gently grabbed Cas' cheek, moving his head until he could look the angel in the eyes. They continued to shift behind him, looking at whatever vision he could see.

"Cas! Cas, look at me. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real," He watched as those beautiful blue eyes managed to focus on him, catching his gaze. But a second later, he cried out in pain, arching his back as though to try and get away from the feeling.

"Dean. Dean..." The angel whimpered out softly. The hunter could only rub little circles into Cas' arm, tryng to pull him away from all the pain, both real and imagined. He kept whispering his name over and over, before screaming again. "Dean! Please, help me!"

Dean had never felt more helpless, watching his best friend in so much pain and unable to help. The angel's eyes shifted up into his head, showing only the whites. The screams drifted back down into whispers, so softly spoken they were unintelligable to the hunter.

He could only sigh, watching as it continued for a few minutes before he finally lapsed into unconsciousness.

At least he’s no longer in pain.

He pulled the jacket off from around his arm, unwinding the heavy fabric slowly. Laying it down on top of the angel, he tucked it in so it hugged his body. He could at least give that to him.

_Several hours later,_

Dean watched as Cas slept, his chest slowly rising up and down, his eyes shifting beneath closed lids. He just wished to see those blue irises again, to know that his friend, his savior, would be alright.

He knew Sam would save them. It was only a matter of time before his stupidly tall brother burst in here and rescued them. But what would happen after? Would Cas even heal?

And the way he seemed so detached while she was- while she was torturing him was terrifying. As though he was lost in whatever emotions those wings brought.

As beautiful as they are, he hates those wings. They bring nothing but confusion and sorrow.

What if Cas never recovered? Would he be able to continue hunting? The angel wouldn’t stand for being put on the bench, it would destroy him. But they can’t exactly be walking around with a man with fucking wings.

He looked over as a small groan emanated from his jacket. He saw the green material shift, and watched as breathtaking blue once again filled his vision.

Cas tried to sit up, before letting out a heartbreaking moan and slumping back down. He quickly put a hand on the angel’s shoulder.

“Don’t try to move. Are you alright? How’s the pain?” He asked, looking him over again. That whole fainting thing had really scared him.

“I-I’m fine, Dean.” His deep voice was slightly cracked, as though he was trying to keep emotion from his words. “The pain... it is manageable.”

Cas’ gaze shifted downwards to the hand laying on his shoulder, and Dean could see them widen.

Even he would have to classify his wrist under the category of horrendous. It was a motley assortment of greens, yellows, and purples across his forearm and onto his hand. The cut above it didn’t help, either. The wound was gaping, and he had no doubt if it wasn’t already, it would get infected.

He could see the guilt that riddled the angel’s face.

“I’m so sorry, this is all my fault and-“ Cas’ breaths started to get erratic, and Dean had the sinking sensation that he was going to have an anxiety attack. What the fuck were these wings doing to him if he was having a fucking panic attack?

“Calm down. It’s alright, just take deep breaths with me. 1, 2, in, 3, 4, out.” He watched as his friend’s chest started rising more steadily in time with his counting. He saw a single tear slip from those eyes that held the sky.

“These emotions... they are too powerful, I-I can’t control them,” his words were interspersed with sniffles, and if it had been anyone else Dean would have laughed. “And every time I close my eyes I see him, his blade, I feel his hands and-“

Dean pulled the man closer to his chest, knocking the jacket askew in the process. If this had been Sammy, he would have made a remark about how they’re having a chick-flick moment. But seeing an angel come apart before his eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to joke.

“Who is it?” He asked quietly, his curiosity getting the better of him. The angel sniffled a few more times before answering.

“Z-Zachariah. He was my commander for a long time, before I took his office. Then he became heaven’s ‘teacher’. But even before that he had an affinity for re-education, as he called it.” The bitterness in the angel’s words took him by surprise, but he didn’t blame him. He saw the effects of that very torture back when this all started.

Seeing the cold that pervaded his friend’s eyes as he shunned humanity was something he’d never forget.

“Well, Zach’s dead, so you don’t have to worry about him anymore. He’s just an old, faded memory.” He watched the angel nod as his eyes began to droop again. It was still weird to see his friend tired, let alone sleep.

"If he's dead, then why does he still scare me?" Cas whispered. Before Dean could think of an answer, bruised lids slowly drowned out the blue, and his breathing evened into deep, solid breaths.

He pulled the angel closer, at least having a good use for the fever-induced heat wafting off his body. He could already hear the soft groans coming from his friend, telltale signs of a nightmare.

When Sam came to save them, they would have to figure out how to save a fallen angel.

Because Dean would not let his friend down.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. Merry Christmas, and happy holidays! Hope everyone has a great day and likes this new chapter!
> 
> Warnings:  
> Graphic descriptions of blood/aftermath of torture

Chapter 14   
_Sam and Dean’s motel room,_   
_Bloomington, IL_

Sam sat in the afternoon sunlight, staring at the assortment of pictures in front of him.

Some were the grisly remains of the rougaru victims, taken from the autopsy reports. He was starting to doubt that monster was actually the culprit. Upon closer inspection, he found the cuts too clean, not at all consistent with a creature tearing into flesh. He cursed himself for missing it earlier.

Others were of Michael Schwartz, the man murdered and butchered at the college. The police had ruled it a ritual killing, and had an open investigation. He was sure the carvings had something to do with Cas, and it made him sick to think this woman had both him and Dean at her mercy.

There were four other pictures, all dimly lit and poorly taken.

One was the image he had already gotten from the woman, of Dean and Cas in the cage, with Cas’ wings. The leverage for him to not run the gun's numbers.

The next would had normally warmed his heart, and preceded constant Dean-teasing. But the reason for why he had this photo brought all happiness out of the situation. They were sleeping, wrapped tightly around each other. Their heads were touching lightly, something they both would never admit to happening. Dean’s jacket covered them, along with Cas’ wings. The grey feathers were slightly ruffled. They both looked so peaceful, despite their situation. The fact their kidnapper has watched them sleeping, and taking pictures? It disturbed him, to say the least.

But he would take that over the next two any day.

Cas wasn’t in the first one, but his wing tip was just in view. Dean was the focus. He lay heavily back on the cage wall, his eyes half closed and glazed with pain. A colorful bruise covered part of his temple, already starting to fade. Blood coated his neck and chest, coming from several thin cuts. Both his hands were cuffed behind his back. One was obviously broken, bruises already forming around the wrist. An alarming amount of blood dripped from a deep wound just under his elbow. His expression was so full of emotions; pain, anger, fear. Guilt. That last one bothered him. Dean was obviously being tortured; why was he feeling guilty?

But it was truly the last photo that scared him, the one that made him feel like he was going to lose his lunch. This one only had Cas in it. The angel was on his stomach, and Sam couldn't see his face. Those beautiful grey wings were held out on the floor as though pinned there. It reminded him sickeningly of those butterfly displays in science museums. A large bruise was forming on the small of his back which looked distinctly like a boot print. The thought of Cas being forced into that position filled him with anger. He could only imagine how Dean felt being unable to help his friend. But that wasn’t really the things that caught his eye. It was one of his wings, the right one. The main bone was twisted at an odd angle, pushing against the skin. A bit of white stuck through the grey, which he realized was a spike of bone. It caused blood to spill and coat through the feathers. It was obvious someone had brutally fractured it. What kind of monster breaks an angel’s wings?

Each one of the photos had been texted to him on the phone from Mom, along with the date and time they were taken. The oldest was from just before it had been sent to him at the station. The newest was a few hours old.

The location on the phone was blocked, and he had no way to trace it. He’s been poring over all the pictures he has, trying to find any detail he may have missed, anything that may help him figure out where they are. It was all he could do while waiting to get the call.

He should have known he couldn’t run the gun through official channels; it was stupid for him to have even considered it. But he did have contacts, and one in particular he had been pretty sure would help.

The last three days had been hell, and he could only hope it would end soon.

It was then the phone rang, pulling him from the pictures. He quickly fished it from his pocket, looking at the caller ID. He let out a sigh of relief. Finally, some answers.

“Hey, Jody. You find something?” He said hurriedly. The sheriff had been surprised to get his call, to say the least, but after telling her the story, she had agreed to help and run the serial numbers quietly through the system.

“Yeah. Sorry it took me so long, Sam, but I had to call in a few favors. This wasn’t exactly in my jurisdiction, and the IT guys don’t like it when people ask for things done under the radar,” Sam held his breath, waiting for her to finish. “Now, listen, son. You need to be careful with this one, it’s personal.”

“Who does it belong to?” He asked, already opening up his laptop. He heard her take a deep breath, before telling him the name.

“Jimmy Novak, but ownership was transferred to his wife, Amelia, after his disappearance,”

Everything slowly fell into place. The wings, her want for revenge, the cell phone that said Claire on it, with the speed dial Mom. It was Amelia who had done this.

It was Amelia who had captured Cas and Dean, who had tortured them. It was probably Amelia who had caused the rougaru deaths, along with Michael's. The holy oil mixed with blood, the cross on the gun. It all made sense.

He hadn’t even recognized her. Although he had barely got a look at her face, he remembered her warm voice, her caring smile. Nothing at all like the monster who had knocked him out, nor the voice from the phones. And she has Dean and Cas.

“Sam, she has had psychiatrists describe her as ‘psychotic and delusional’. Her own daughter was taken away after she was deemed unfit to parent. With the grudge she probably has against y’all, she’s dangerous. You sure you don’t want backup?” Her voice sounded concerned, and he thanked God again to have so many people to rely on.

“No, thanks, Jody. I need to leave, right now. I think I may know where she is. Does she still live in their house in Pontiac.” He could hear her running a search through her computer.

"Yes." He breathed a sigh of relief. "Son, be careful,"

"I always am, Sheriff," He heard her say goodbye, before hanging up the phone. He quickly typed in Amelia's name, looking for the address of their house.

Articles came up near the top, about Jimmy's disappearence, and Claire's death. The last one suprised him, but he would wait until his friend's were safe to read it. Once he found the address, he put on his coat. He grabbed the duffle bag with all their weapons before racing towards the Impala.

He was going to find them and save them from whatever revenge this woman has planed. He was going to the Novak’s.

Sam just hoped he wasn't too late.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Hope everyone had an awesome Christmas! Here is Chapter 15! Sorry for another short one.
> 
> No warnings for Chapter Fifteen.

Chapter Fifteen   
_The Novak’s_   
_Pontiac, IL_

Sam pulled up across the street from the house and shifted into park. The neighborhood looked exactly the same as it had four years ago; perfect and idyllic. Even the hedges were precisely trimmed. But the house in front of him stuck out like a sore thumb.

The two stone walls around the house still stood, but they were crumbling and unkept. Paint was peeling from the shingles. The house looked like no one had cared about its appearance for years. No one probably had.

He reached into the backseat and pulled out his gun and a knife. As far as he knew, Amelia was just an ordinary human. He wouldn't need anything special to kill her. And for what she did to Dean and Cas, along with all those other victims? He was going to kill her.

He opened the driver's door to the Impala and shut it quietly. His footsteps crunched on the gravel pathway which led up to the front door. Something about the house yelled haunted, and it put him on edge. He had been to too many similar, run down houses which housed venegeful spirits.

He circled around the back, until he was facing the rear door. He pulled out his lock pick set from his jacket and began to work.

After a few minutes he managed to unlock and get the door open, walking into the dining room as quietly as he could. He kept his gun up, peering into the shadows.

The table in the center of the room was knocked over, all the accompanying chairs broken. Blue placemats were on the floor, covered in something that looked disturbingly like blood. A couple of bowls were scattered across the room. It seemed as though there had been a struggle.

He went through the doorway into the next room, the living room. A plastic tarp covered the floor. It was soaked with blood. More plastic also covered all the chairs and coaches.

If he was right about the supposed rougaru victims, this was probably where she killed them. Or Michael Schwartz. He didn't want to consider the possibility that all that red had something to do with Cas or Dean.

He just had to keep reminding himself that in the last photo they were alive. Even if they weren’t in the best condition.

There were still photographs on the once-white mantle. One was of Amelia and Jimmy on their wedding day. Another had a little girl with blonde pigtails, her face covered in chocolate ice cream. That must have been Claire when she was younger. Each of the photographs were sprayed with blood.

The rest of the downstair's rooms looked normal, the same as they had four years ago. They were a stark contrast to the dining and living rooms.

He saw the door that had to lead to the basement, unassuming and white. That seemed to be the best place to check. The photos had been taking in a place with little lighting and cement walls. A basement or attic seemed to fit.

He grabbed the handle and twisted it slowly, trying to pull it open without a sound. A set of wooden stairs led down into the darkness. He took a step forward, and winced at the creak it gave.

He walked down the flight of stairs, still holding the gun forward and ready.

When he reached the bottom, he felt around on the wall beside the railing, trying to find a light. His fingers found the telltale switch, and he flicked it up. A light flared on, illuminating the room from a single bulb which hung from the ceiling.

A large cage sat in the center, made out of wire fencing. A door was made out of the same material, closed with a padlock. It looked like the cage he had seen Cas and Dean inside in the pictures.

And inside now.

He had seen Dean after Lucifer had beat him up using his own fists; Cas when he had been infected with the Leviathans. But he had never seen them looking so defeated and hurt.

Dean had one hand still handcuffed to the pole behind him. The one that wasn't broken. His breaths were shallow, and Sam was worried about more internal injuries he may not have been able to see. He couldn’t see the other wrist, but he knew that by now it had to be covered it bruises. He just hoped none of the cuts were infected, especially the one on his forearm. He just hoped it wouldn’t get any worse.

Then he looked at Cas.

The angel was sleeping, which in itself was worrying, slumped heavily against Dean and the wall. One wing, his left one, was pulled tight against his back. The other lay in front of him, bent out of shape. Blood still coated his feathers.

His eyes were closed, squeezed tightly shut. He could hear soft moans of pain coming from him. If he didn't know better, he would have said the angel was having a nightmare.

They were wrapped around each other, similar to the first photo she had sent him. Although Dean's favorite jacket was now bloody and Cas no longer had his wings wrapped around them.

They must not have heard him coming down the stairs, which terrified him. Normally, Dean would have leapt up at the first creak, let alone the ones that had followed. And Cas? The angel should have sensed him entering the house long before.

He took another quick look around the room, ensuring he was alone, before walking closer to the cage.

"Dean? Cas?" He said quietly, inspecting the padlock. He wouldn't be able to pick it. He saw Dean's head pick up slowly.

"Sammy?" His brother said, lifting head from Cas' shoulder. His forest green eyes met Sam's brown ones. They were glazed, and pain-filled. Sam could see the sweat dripping off his brother’s forehead. He has to be running a fever.

At first his eyes showed relief, hope. Something they had been horribly lacking in the photos. Then they blew wide with fear, and he started struggling against the handcuff.

"SAM!" His voice was hoarse, but he still managed to scream.

Sam turned around, and before he could focus on anything, he felt himself being slammed into a wall. Hands pinned his shoulders against the cement, and a face came close to his.

"Well hello, Sam. So nice of you to finally join us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffy.
> 
> I normally wouldn't do this, but if anyone wants more brotherly love sooner, check out my other new story, Always for You.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Sorry for not posting the chapter yesterday. With the holidays, and approaching new year, everything has been so busy. Anywho, here is Chapter Sixteen!
> 
> Warnings:  
> Non-graphic violence.

Chapter 16  
_The Novak’s,_  
_Pontiac, Illinois._

At first, he had thought he was imagining it. That his fever was causing him to hallucinate. Or the dehydration. Or the blood loss. Take your freakin' pick.

But as he watched Amelia appear from behind the staircase, he didn’t care. He had to warn Sammy.

His mother had told him to take his brother outside, to keep him safe. His father had taught him how to fight off any possible threat to their family.

So it didn’t matter if this was real or imagined. He needed to warn his brother.

“SAM!” He screamed, his voice breaking. He moved his arm, pain running up and down the broken limb. And his brother still stood before him. So it was real. Sam was here. And in danger.

He could feel Cas shift next to him, probably awoken by his yelling. He wanted to comfort the angel, knew how terrified he was going to be, but his main focus was Sam.

He watched as she grabbed his shoulders and forced him into the wall, pinning him. It looked ridiculous, someone as small as she was pinning his sasquatch of a brother.

He heard the woman say something, but he was too far away to hear. Probably just one of her psychotic musings.

As he had guessed, Amelia couldn’t hold Sam for long. A moment later the hunter managed to throw her off. She staggered for a moment, managing to regain her balance just as Sam threw a punch. It hit her square in the face, splitting her lip. She twisted and fell onto the ground. He climbed on top of her, pinning her down by her shoulders.

“Looks like it’s the end of your party, Amelia,” Sam said, panting from the fight. She simply smiled as he took her gun and threw it across the floor.

Dean climbed to his feet, wavering as the world spun. He leaned heavily against the wall and the pole as his vision edged black. He couldn’t faint. He needed to warn Sam. He didn’t know about the sigils.

“Sam, wait-!” He started, but was cut off by a scream. It was a sound he had grown to know well in the past few days.

He didn’t want this to happen again. Not now.

He watched as Cas’ eyes shot open, revealing those blue irises again. He let out another shout, followed by a sharp moan of pain. His body was strung tight like a bow, his back arched against the wall. His uninjured wing was flared out, the feathers puffed up. The other lay still limp on the floor.

He sat back down beside the angel, grabbing his shoulders, before shouting at his brother, “Sam, the sigils! Break the sigils!”

He looked over and saw his brother get off Amelia, running to the far wall. Dean could see the symbols now that the room was lit. They looked like they were made of blood. Sam drew a knife from his back pocket, scraping a bit off and breaking one of the symbols.

Cas’ body immediately lost it’s tension, his eyes slipping back closed again. He tucked his jacket, which had fallen off, back around the angel before turning and looking at Sam.

He was surprised to see his brother’s hands up, and felt his breath leave him when he saw why.

Amelia had Dean’s own gun pointed at him, cocked and ready to fire. He was trapped, unable to help. Fear bolted through his chest.

“How the tables have turned, Sammy,” she said, that cold smile still on. He knew that smile would haunt his nightmares.

“His name is Sam.” He heard himself saying. He hated how weak and hoarse his voice was.

“Well then, Sam, put down that knife.” He watched as his brother followed with her command, slowly putting the blade onto the floor. “Now do the same with that gun.”

He could see options flickering through Sam’s eyes, but one look at the two of them in the cage stopped them. He took the pistol from the back of his belt, dropping it onto the floor and kicking it over to her.

She picked it up and put into her holster, before walking over to the cage door. She pulled the key from her pocket, fitting it into the lock and turning. The door sprang open.

It killed him to see freedom so close, but to be unable to reach it because his hand was bound. She motioned with the gun.

“Now get inside.” He could heard Sam sigh, unable to disobey, before walking over into the cage. She followed him inside, closing the door behind her. He looked over at Sam, and they met each other’s eyes. This couldn’t be good, not if she was in here with them.

"You need to learn your actions have consequences, Samuel.” She said, no remorse actually in her voice. “Your brother and the angel certainly have, but I think you need a bit more penance.” She smiled.

He saw the gun twist towards him, the barrel now pointed in his direction. He heard the explosive sound of it firing.

That was his gun; he had heard that sound more times than he could count. But not once had it filled him with fear. Not once had it been fired at him.

He didn’t actually feel the bullet enter him, just a burning pain that went through his whole body.

He knew he fell to the ground, but he wasn’t really sure why.

A loud sound was echoing through the room, someone's scream. And he vaguely realized the scream was his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave everyone on another cliffy, next chapter tomorrow!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Here's Chapter Seventeen!
> 
> Warnings:  
> References to past torture

Chapter 17   
_The Novak’s,_   
_Pontiac, IL_

This was the moment he had feared his entire life: when the job finally caught up to them. When they could no longer beat death.

And for a split second, he thought it could have been today. Watching Dean fall to the ground from a gunshot wound brought back memories that he would rather forget.

But it was in his shoulder. His brother wasn’t going to die; at least not yet.

He ran over to his side, pulling off his jacket and over-shirt. He pressed the plaid fabric to the wound, hoping to stop the bleeding.

He heard Dean groan, rising back to consciousness. His eyes opened, and he looked down at him.

“Hiya, Sammy. Took ya long enough,” His brother said, happiness evident in his voice despite the pain.

“Shut up, Jerk,” he responded quietly, a smile still rising to his face despite their situation. Stuck in a cage, one of them bleeding out and the other...

He glanced over at Cas, who was still unconscious. He focused back on pressing his shirt tightly to Dean’s shoulder.

“So... wings?” He said.

“Yeah. Trust me, that bitch is going to suffer,” Dean’s voice held so much venom that if it had been anyone else he would have been scared.

“That bad?” Without even asking, he knew that it had to be worse than he originally thought. Those sigils, his broken wing, and the fact he was still unconscious worried him.

Dean groaned as he applied more pressure. “You have a pick set on you?”

He pulled out the leather case, and opened his brother’s other handcuff. Once it was off, his brother ran over to the angel’s side. He shook him with one hand, whispering Cas’ name.

The angel’s eyes opened blearily, focusing on Dean before sitting straight up. He let out a low hiss as his wing shifted.

“It’s alright, Cas. It’s alright.” Sam watched as the angel collapsed into Dean’s waiting arms.

“H-he was there again. His hands, they- I couldn’t stop him, I couldn’t stop him.” Cas was crying, and Sam felt his heart grow cold. What the hell had happened here?

Cas’ eyes shifted up and landed on him. “Sam? You’re here?”

He winced at the raw hope that the words held. “Yeah, buddy. Are you alright?”

Cas sniffles and nodded, moving out of Dean’s arms. “I apologize for my... outburst. The wings make it hard for me to suppress my emotions.” He looked at Dean, then down at his shoulder. “What happened?”

“Amelia decided to teach Sam a lesson,” Dean said, anger pervading his voice. “It’s alright, Cas. It’s just a flesh wound.”

“This is all my fault, Dean. This is all my-“

“Cas, don’t you dare start this self-blaming shit again. I don’t want you having another attack.”

Sam looked at his brother confused. Attack? What had happened. The glance Dean gave in his direction said that he would tell him later.

He watched Cas take several deep breaths, before stopping and looking at the far wall.

“The sigils are broken. I may be able to access my grace and break the lock on the door.”

Dean met Cas’ gaze, asking worriedly, “What about your wings? You said it may prevent you from being able to use it.”

The angel took a deep breath. “It will be hard, and may be as bad as the first time.”

This also made Sam confused. First time, what first time? Although whatever he was saying made Dean shake his head.

“No way, Cas. You are not going through that again.” Something about the desperation in his brother’s voice made him agree.

“Listen, Dean. I got you both in this situation, and I will get you out. But you have to leave me.”

Dean started to protest, but Cas cut him off.

“I can’t break the manacles because of the sigils. And I will probably not be of much help in my condition.”

Dean was going to say something else, but the angel’s eyes were already closed, and he looked as though he was concentrating. A thin drip of blood ran from his nose, and the light above them flickered.

“Cas, stop. Please.” It scared him to hear Dean pleading, almost as much as seeing Cas like this. A loud sound went through the room as the padlock was crushed and fell off the door.

Cas’ eyes opened for a second, before rolling up in his head. Dean slumped down heavily, worry lines creasing his face.

“Dammit, Cas.” He said softly. Sam reaches over and put a hand on his uninjured shoulder.

“Dean, I have to go. Amelia probably noticed the lights flickering. I don’t have long.” As much as he hated leaving them, he knew he was running out of time.

That made Dean’s gaze shift back to him, before throwing the hand off him.

“I’m coming with you.” He said stubbornly.

“You’re in no condition-“ Sam began, before Dean stood. He wavered unsteadily for a few seconds before straightening.

“I am coming with you.” The younger hunter could only nod, knowing nothing was going to stop Dean now that his mind was set.

He gave one last glance at Castiel, bending down and shifting the jacket back over his body.

They then walked out of the cage, ready to face the woman upstairs.

He would get them out of this. All of them.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Here's Chapter Eighteen!
> 
> Warnings:  
> Non-graphic violence.

Chapter 18   
_The Novak’s,_   
_Pontiac, IL_

Dean watched as his brother grabbed the discarded knife from the concrete floor and handed it to him. Normally he would have bitched about it, saying that Sam should have it for whatever reason he came up with. But the world was still wavering, spinning around him. Every step he took caused pain to flare through his chest and arm. He knew he wouldn't be much help in a fight. God, he could barely stand, much less take down a woman with a gun.

Sam started to walk up the stairs. He gave one last glance behind him at Cas. He was leaning up against the wall, still unconscious with his jacket over him. He didn't want to leave him behind, but he knew he had to. He would come back for him. He would get him out of this.

They reached the top of the staircase, and Sam motioned to him. Go around the back of the rooms, approach her from behind. He nodded his understanding, and his brother opened the door quietly.

It let out into the kitchen. The walls were a pristine white, everything orderly. It was exactly as he remembered it four years ago. Pots hung from a metal bar above the stove, and an old-style fridge was humming in the corner.

Sam went around the corner to the left, and he to the right. He gripped the knife in his hand.

They had bought it a few years back when their other one melted. It was simple and silver, with a wooden handle. For some reason, he had always liked it. The simplicity, the normality. He guessed it showed how messed up their lives are if having a knife was normal.

He walked out of the kitchen into the dining room. This room was the exact opposite of the one he had just been in. Everything was broken, as though a fight had broken out.

A glint of something caught his eye under the leg of a chair. Bending down, he picked it up and inspected it.

It was another gold seal ring, from Wesleyan college. Probably the wing guy’s, he thought. Maybe this room was evidence of the fight he put up. He pocketed it, before continuing through the next doorway.

A living room, it seemed. The couches and chairs were covered in plastic, along with the floor. Blood was splattered across every surface. He walked up to a picture on the mantle. It had been broken out of its frame, glass surrounding it. It was taken at some amusement park, one of those snap-shot things they take on rides. Jimmy, Amelia, Claire; they were all screaming in fear and joy, hands above their heads.

The picture was covered in red, soaked through. The paper was stiff in his hands from the dried blood.

A crash sounded behind him, and he let go of the picture. He turned back into the dining room.

Sam and Amelia were circling each other. He saw that she had her gun, but it was still holstered. Although why, he didn’t know. He had literally brought a knife to a gunfight.

She took the first move, jerking her knee into Sam’s stomach. He winced in sympathy. That had to hurt. He watched as his brother doubled over and tried to regain the air that had been knocked from his lungs. Gut hits suck.

She leaped onto his back, her sudden weight bringing all six feet seven inches of unbalanced Sam to the ground. Dean saw his chance as she stood back up and prepared to kick the fallen figure.

He ran forwards, plunging the knife into her shoulder. She let out a harsh cry of pain, clutching the wound. Blood seeped our from around her fingers. He quickly reached into the holster and pulled out his gun, disarming her. Sam’s gun wasn’t on her.

She turned and rounded on him as he threw the gun to his brother, knocking him to the ground. Pain ignited throughout his body as he landed, and he let out a choked scream.

Dark spots danced in front of his vision, but could hear Sam cocking the gun and telling her to move away. The pressure from his chest was lifted, and for a few seconds all he could do was cough.

“Are you alright?” His brother asked worriedly. Dean glanced down at the bloody specks that were on his hand and grimaced.

“Yeah. My ribs are a little bruised, that’s all,” he groaned as he stood up. “Bruised may be an understatement,”

Sam smiled grimly and grabbed the back of a chair, flipping it over. He put his hand on Amelia’s shoulder, forcing her to sit down in it. He leaned in a little closer to her, holding the gun to her chest.

“Do you have some rope we could borrow?” He asked. When she just smiled at him, he reached over and twisted the knife in her shoulder.

Dean felt his blood run cold as she screamed. The last time he’d seen his brother like this, willing to do anything? He had been soulless.

“The closet, the closet,” she gasped out, nodding to a small door on the other side of the room. Dean walked over, pulling open the door and grabbing the coil of rope that lay inside.

“Weird,” he muttered under his breath. Who kept rope in their dining room closet? Although this woman had also carved up bodies and had manacles. Humans were weird. He handed the coil to Sam, along with his knife. He started to cut the rope and tie up their kidnapper.

“I’ll get Cas,” Dean said, turning back towards the stairs. He needed her to undo the sigils on the angel’s manacles.

Walking back down the stairs, he swayed slightly, and leaned against the wall. He had to wait a moment before continuing, swallowing convulsively. Although to keep down what, he didn’t know.

When he did reach the bottom, he quickly ran into the cage where they had stayed for past four days.

Cas was still in the same spot he had been in a few minutes ago, but he was slowly stirring.

He shook the angel’s shoulder with his good hand, taking the jacket which they had used as a blanket off. His blue eyes opened, before slipping closed again.

“Cas, it’s over. We have Amelia tied up upstairs. She just has to undo your chains and we can all go back to the motel and get cleaned up.” He kept his voice steady, even though inside he was terrified. What was going to happen now that Cas had... wings?

Those eyes opened again, this time staying that way. He shifted an arm under the angel’s shoulder, before lifting him up to his feet.

Damn, he was heavier than he looks.

He supported him, careful to avoid touching any feathers, as they walked up the stairs. It took a while, but eventually they made it to he top and back through the kitchen into the dining room.

Sam had finished tying her up, and was standing against the wall. When he saw how much they were struggling, he moved and grabbed Cas’ other arm.

Together they stood in front of the bound Amelia, facing her.

“Undo the sigils on the chains,” he said, surprised by the steadiness he managed to maintain. Truthfully, he felt like he was about to faint. Or throw up. He was surprised he hadn’t already.

“Say please,”

He groaned inwardly. Not this thing again.

“This time, I have the gun pointed at you. And unless you want another hole to bleed out from, I suggest you do exactly what I say,” he watched as anger filled her eyes as she whispered a few words in Enochian.

He looked down and saw that the sigils carved on the manacles disappeared, before the chains themselves dissolved into sand.

He breathed out a sigh of relief just as the world really started spinning again. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on this time, and felt his knees buckle. Without him supporting his shoulder, Cas followed. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he would have made a joke about how the angel needed his help, but right now he really didn’t care.

The fall made more pain lance through his body, and caused the world to spin more. Sam moved in front of them, pulling them both back against the wall. He was starting to lose his vision, the dark spots overwhelming the ruined room. He was glad for it. The fighting had brought the voices back to his old injuries, and they were all screaming at him.

He vaguely realized he heard wood cracking and splintering, curses, and a gunshot ring through the air, but he couldn’t see what had happened.

Slowly the darkness claimed him, and he was glad. He was finally free from the pain.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! We're so close to the end, only two more chapters left after this one!
> 
> Warnings for Chapter Nineteen:  
> References to past torture

Chapter 19   
_The Novak’s_   
_Pontiac, IL_

He watched as the manacles fell away from Cas’ wrists. He watched as Dean lost his balance and fell to the floor, unconscious.

He kneeled down beside his brother, checking his breathing. Probably just dehydration or something similar. He doubted Amelia had given them water or food.

He shouldn’t have looked away from her. He should’ve kept his gun trained until he had decided what their next step would be. But with Dean’s sudden collapse, he had looked away.

The next thing he knew, Amelia was ripping off one of the chair’s arms, and untied her other hand.

He looked over, yelling at her to stop, but she just smiled. He fired at her. After what she did to his family, he was not going to let her get away. But she was already moving, and the shot missed.

She leapt out the window, glass shattering around her. By the time he managed to look through the empty frame to the ground below, she was gone.

Dammit. He had a feeling this was going to bite him in the ass, but he couldn’t focus on her right now.

Dean was out cold, and while Cas was still conscious, there was no way he could walk. He couldn’t carry them both, and he really didn’t want to leave one here while he brought the other to the car.

“Dean?” He shook his brother’s shoulder. He really couldn’t do this alone, not with Cas like... this.

His brother’s eyes opened blearily, dilated and unfocused. “Sammy?”

“Hey, Jerk. No checking out yet, alright? Don’t you dare leave me alone to carry a literal angel to the car.” He said it lightheartedly, and he could see Dean’s eyes light up despite the pain.

“I wouldn’t think of it.” He braced his good arm against the floor, pushing up to his knees. He stayed like that, wavering for a few seconds. “It’s really bad this time,”

Sam grabbed him under his shoulder, pulling him the rest of the way to his feet and supporting him. “You can do it. Just until we get to the motel. Then you can rest.”

They both knew it was a lie. The extent of their injuries would need treating, and because of Dean’s concussion, he would need cognitive checks every hour. None of them were going to get very much sleep tonight.

After a few seconds, Dean managed to steady himself enough to not need Sam to support him. The older hunter bent down, and shook Cas gently. The angel’s eyes glanced into his brother’s and shared a look he didn’t understand. He had a feeling he was still missing a lot of what had happened.

“Hey, buddy. We need to get to the car, so me and Sammy are going to carry you,” the angel nodded, his eyes slipping back closed again. Dean stood back up, leaning close to his ear. “Don’t touch his wings,”

Sam looked at him confused. “What? Why?”

“Just. Don’t.” The warning in Dean’s voice was enough for him to back off. This was not something he wanted to push, not right now.

Sam took Cas’ body in his arms, trying his best to not touch his wings. It was hard, but Cas didn’t stir, so hopefully he did good.

He glanced back at Dean, and together they started back towards the car.

They walked out of the dining back in though the living room. He tried not to look at the blood, dried on practically every surface. The police were going to have a field day with this one.

They walked out the front door, Dean covering his back with a gun. He looked quickly around the front lawn, and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

Soon they were at the car. His brother bent down, leaning his forehead against the black exterior. “Good to be back, Baby,”

Sam just shook his head. Dean seemed more excited to see his car than his own brother. He opened the back door, sliding Cas in. The angel’s broken wing caught on the seat, and he let out a low groan of pain.

“Sorry, Cas,” he apologized quietly. Geez, the guy didn’t need to be in any more pain. He was a little worried, though. Why wasn’t he healing now that the sigils were gone?

He saw Dean climbing in next to the angel, and stopped. His brother just gave him a weird look, before shutting the door.

He sighed, climbing into the driver’s seat. Looking in the back mirror at the two injured people in the back, he started driving.

He watched as Cas’ eyes slipped closed again, and although Dean’s were pained, they were focused on his friend.

The angel started groaning, twisting his head side to side. “No.. no!”

Dean reached over, shaking Cas out of whatever sleep he had fallen into.

“Dean? What’s going on?” He asked, but his brother ignored him.

“He was there... he w-was there, and he had the blade,” Cas was shaking uncontrollably, tears welling in his eyes. Dean just stroked his arm, coaching him through his breathing again.

He kept glancing back in the mirror, connecting gazes with his brother. They were talking about this later.

He sighed and looked back to the road. By this point it was dark outside, and the only sound was Cas’ quiet sobs.

He looked back and saw that Dean’s body was starting to slump, the last of his strength wavering. That cut on his arm looked infected, and he had a fever. After they got Cas back to the motel, they'd have to decide if they needed to go to the ER. Scratch that, he would have to decide. Dean would never volunteer to go.

A few minutes later they reached the motel. He pulled the car into park in front of their room, before hopping out. Dean was awake, barely, his eyes hooded. Cas was out.

He reached over and pulled the angel into his arms, walking back towards the door. He looked back, and confirmed that Dean was following him.

Once he was inside, he lay Cas down on one of the double beds, and watched as Dean staggered to the other. His friends breathing was even, his face placid. It seemed like he was finally getting some rest.

He walked back over to Dean, who was lying down and as pale as death. His eyes were still open, but they were glassy.

Sam sat down next to his brother, and grabbed his hand. They made it out, but at what cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have another plug of my other new story, Always for you (if you don't care skip right on ahead).
> 
> It's just a tiny one-shot about Sam and Dean before the series began, showing the lengths one would go to the other. If you've liked this story so far, check that one out!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! We're so close, only one more chapter. Finally got to the comfort portion of this. Thanks to everyone for reading!
> 
> Warnings for Chapter Twenty:  
> Aftermath of torture

Chapter Twenty  
_Sam and Dean's motel room,_  
_Bloomington, IL_

Dean watched as his brother lay Cas down onto the bed as he sank onto one himself. His uninjured wing was under him, the other laid out off the side. 

He let himself lie down on the bed. He knew Sam was going to have to stitch him up, and he didn’t think his legs would support him much longer.

If before the world had been spinning, now it was a fucking carnival ride. The colors twisted and turned in front of him, bending reality. As Sam walked back over to him, and he sat up.

“Sammy, I’m gonna-“ his brother got the message, and before he could make a mess of the sheets, he was puking into a trash can. Once he was done, he handed it back, and nodded gratefully. Sam just looked at him worriedly.

“You look horrible, Dean. Do you need to-“ he cut him off, unwilling to hear the end.

“No. No hospitals. They’d ask too many questions,” He chose to ignore the slurring of his words. Sam seemed to accept his answer, and got the first aid kit sitting on the table. He pulled out a thermometer, and before he could protest stuck it under his tongue.

He tried to say he was fine, but it came out garbled. He sighed, and leaned his head against the back board and watched as Sam filled a container with alcohol. Inside it, he put tweezers, a curved needle, and some cotton pads. Well, that wasn’t ominous as fuck. 

A few, glare-filled minutes later, his little brother pulled the tube from his mouth, reading it off.

“103. I’ll give you some Tylenol to bring it down, but you may need an ice bath if it gets worse.” Ice baths were always fun, the best part of his day. You know, who doesn’t love feeling like you’re going die from hypothermia? 

Sam threw the thermometer into the bowl, and grabbed a pill bottle from the kit. 

Dean took it, shaking out two little white pills and downing them dry. He really didn’t think he could keep any liquid down at the moment.

“You need to drink something.” His brother has the best timing. Apparently, his face showed exactly what he thought of that idea. “Dean, it’s been at least four days since you’ve had water. If you can’t keep this down, I have to bring you in.”

He shook his head, because that was the worst thing that could happen right now. They would have to leave Cas, figure out credit cards and insurance, let alone think of a story about why his wrist was slit and he had a gunshot wound. 

He reached out and grabbed the bottle his brother held out for him. He took small sips, feeling the cool liquid flow over his tongue. He wanted more, but he really did not want to throw it up.

He felt better and handed the water back to Sam. He looked at the amount he drank disapprovingly, but just silently put the bottle down.

“Dean, I’m going to put the bandage on the cut on your arm. It will sting a bit.” He gave him his best bitchface.

“I’m not a fucking toddler, or a princess like you, Rapunzel,” his brother laughed, before placing the soaked cotton pad on his arm. He couldn’t bite down the groan. He hated the feeling of alcohol on a cut. 

Spots danced in front of his vision, and he let them take over. He knew that having Sam stitch up and set his wrist, along with removing the bullet from his shoulder, was not something he wanted to be awake for.

He heard Sam distantly ask if he was alright and nodded. He was alright, he just wanted to sleep, and that deep black sea looked so inviting....

_Several hours later,_

He opened his eyes, crusty with sleep. The white ceiling above him seemed pretty still, which was a plus. His fever had probably broken. 

The events after drinking the water were one big blur. Sam wrenching the bullet from his shoulder, stitching both the wounds up, and then setting his wrist. He could feel the heavy bandage which made him unable to move his hand. Then every hour he has been woken up and asked stupid questions, before he could go back to sleep. Concussions sucked, and as much as he said that it was gone, Sam had still made him go through the cognitive questions. 

He tried to roll over, but pain lanced through his body. He looked down and realized he was shirtless, with a white bandage wrapped around his middle. The edges of a black-and-blue bruise could be seen. Yep, just as he thought: broken ribs. That was going to make for a fun few weeks. 

He clenched his teeth together, counting to three before sitting up. He managed to keep in a groan of pain.

Looking over, he could see Sammy slumped in a chair, snoring softly. His hair was flopped over his face, and his hands were still covered in his own blood. Probably passed out once the cognitive checks were done. And he didn’t blame him. 

He had been through the same thing; having his brother captured did not make for an easy rest. He probably hadn’t slept at all in the past few days. 

Next to him on the small side table was a bottle of water. He took it greedily, twisting off the cap and chugging a few sips before stopping. He needed to take it slow.

It took a few minutes, but he managed to drink the entire bottle without hurling, which was a plus. Now that he had some liquid in him, and the world wasn’t clouded, he could hear soft moans coming from the closed bathroom door.

He swung his legs over and stood up, glancing around the room. It was then he realized what was missing: Cas.

He walked as quickly as he could over to the door, grateful that Sam had put a sling on his injured arm.

He pulled open the door, whispering softly, “Cas?” 

The angel was sitting on the toilet, hands wrapped around his broken wing. He seemed to hear his footsteps and looked up with wide eyes.

“Dean,” he said, his voice airy. He also seemed a bit pale. At his entrance, he tried to tuck his wings closer, hissing at the pain.

“Do you need help?” He asked. As much as he didn’t want to intrude, he had a feeling the angel would be too embarrassed to ask for it himself. Or too scared.

Cas shook his head, backing a bit into the corner. “No. I-I just need to set it before folding them back into the ethereal plane. I can manage myself,” He never was a good liar, and it was obvious what he was saying wasn’t true.

“If you really don’t want me here, I’ll leave. I won’t do anything you don’t ask me to. But if you do need help...” He let the offer hang in the air, and Cas hung his head.

“I can’t reach it well enough to set properly. But the thought of someone else touching them-“ a shiver ran through his body. Dean nodded his understanding.

“I should get Sam. He has more knowledge on-“ He was cut off by Cas whimpering and shaking his head. 

“No, please, Dean. It’ll be hard enough with you, and... I don’t want him seeing me like this,” 

“Ok. What do we need?” The angel looked at him gratefully.

“Holy water, my angel blade, and the first aid kit. And something for me to bite down on,” Dean ignored the connotations of the last statement and ran back into the bedroom, careful not to wake Sam, and grabbed the supplies. Luckily, they had found Cas’ angel blade in the weird closet with the rope, and brought it with them.

Cas was still in the same spot when he walked back in. He set the stuff on the counter beside the sink.

“Can you sit on the floor? It’ll be easier for me to reach.” He saw options flicker through his friend’s eyes, before settling on one. Trust. He slid off the seat and onto the tile, knees buckling under him.

Dean took a deep breath, before sitting down behind him. Now that it was in the light and he was really looking, he could see where the bone was sticking through feathers. The water he had just drank churned in his stomach. 

“So, I just have to set it? Like any other broken bone?” He asked nervously. No matter how he thought of it, this was not going to be like just another fracture. This was an angel’s goddamn wing.

Cas nodded. “Just, please do it quickly. Do you have a belt?” Dean grabbed the heavy leather from the counter, and Cas folded it over before sticking it in his mouth.

His father had taught them how to treat a compound fracture. Hell, their father had taught them everything. But this was one of the few that had begun with ‘first, call 911’. It was difficult to get the bone back in the correct position, so it would heal properly. And he did not want to mess up Cas’ wings. 

Dean took a deep breath, before opening the first aid kit. He needed to make an incision along where the bone was, and guide it back into place. 

He slipped off his sling, cursing as the stitches on his shoulder pulled and his wrist straightened, before grabbing the small metal scalpel. He placed one hand on the middle joint. He could feel Cas jolt below him. A sharp strike pain ran through his arm from the strain of holding it, but he ignored his own pain. Cas' was more important.

He pushed down, cutting along the top of the wing. Blood, along with grace, spilled from the wound. 

Once he had made the cut long enough, he put down the scalpel, and placed a hand on the bone. He pushed down, feeling it slowly slide back into place. Cas groaned loudly from the gag, eyes twisting shut.

Once the bone was back in line, the skin healed over it. He looked almost normal, beyond the fact he still had wings.

“I thought they were going to disappear-“ Cas spit out the belt, turning around to face him. His face was even paler than before, eyes dilated. 

“You need to rinse out the sigils with holy water, to cleanse them, than break them with my blade. They will disappear after that,” He was panting heavily, and sounded as though breathing was a struggle. 

“You good, Cas?” 

“The pain is agonizing, and the t-touching-“ His eyes grew unfocused for a moment, "Please, just do it quickly," he let out a few more ragged breaths before his eyes slipped closed. 

Dean reached up and grabbed the bottle filled with holy water. Opening up the top, he poured it over Cas’ back. Hissing came from the cuts, along with steam. He was glad his friend was unconscious for this. 

He grabbed the blade, and made another clean incision down his back, severing the sigils. Fresh blood ran down, but the angel’s breathing slowed and deepened. 

He closed his eyes when a bright light flooded Cas’ body. Even through the lids, he could see the blue glow. 

After a few seconds, the light died down, and he opened his eyes. Lying on the floor was Castiel, sans wings, scars, and everything else. He looked practically normal, beyond the fact he was sleeping. 

Before Dean could stop himself, he gathered the angel into his arms, just as they had slept in Amelia’s cage. 

At the moment, he didn't want to worry about what would happen next, what these wings would mean for them. They were free, they were safe. They were away from the darkness that had bound them. Everything was back to normal, as normal as their lives got, and everything was going to be alright. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! We finally made it: the final chapter! First I'd like to say thanks to anyone who's been following this story all the way through. Your support has been incredible, and its so nice to hear that people actually enjoy my writing! Hats off to everyone who commented, you guys are awesome! Now, onto the end!
> 
> No warnings for Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

A woman watched from the far corner of the parking lot, looking through the grimy window into a rundown motel room.

She could see three figures inside, sitting at a table and eating. Well, two of them are. The other just watched as the food, wrapped in grease-stained paper, was "served". They all looked happy, too happy. Almost like a family. 

They didn’t deserve a family, not when they had taken away hers. They had taken everything away, and her revenge had been cut short. She wasn’t one to drop a grudge, especially when it's one as important as this. 

Her hands shook with anger. She grabbed the phone from her pocket, dialing familiar numbers. The black buttons were worn down in those spots, places where her fingers had hit them so many times the plastic and paint had worn. 

That used to be Claire’s phone number, the one she had picked out. She had given her daughter the option of any phone she wanted in the store on her 11th birthday. And being the average girl, she chose pink. She had begged her for an hour, and despite Amelia’s comments on how she won’t like it in a few years, she was adamant. Her daughter always was stubborn. So the phone was pink, like she wanted it. 

Her face when she saw the neon cell had made it all worth it. And how she had taken her magical, lucky purple marker and drawn her name in careful script? Her tongue sticking out in concentration? 

Those were the moments these monsters have taken from them: her first kiss, her graduations, her first car. And how dare they believe they were so holy, so righteous?

That wasn't even considering her husband; the kindly, devout man who had loved her pot roast with carrots, boiled not roasted. The little laugh he would give as he opened presents Christmas morning. His face as she fell asleep in his arms every night. 

Those were the reasons she had devoted her life to hunting down those men, of giving them what they deserve. The pain that Claire went through, the humiliation of Jimmy. 

She could see inside the figures stop, one holding a phone to their ear. He pointed to the phone and mouthed something to his brother, who grabbed a gun and moved towards the window. As she heard the line pick up, tears filled her eyes, and she breathed deeply. This wasn't over; she would make sure of it.

“Who are you?”

“Really, Sam? You know exactly who I am.”

“What do you want, Amelia? To torture us some more, taunt us?” 

“Just to tell you I’ll be back. My vengeance was cut short. my husband and daughter can't rest peacefully until this is through." She heard crackling over the phone as it shifted hands.

"If you come anywhere near me, Sam, or Cas again, I will slit. your. throat." Dean's voice had a growling edge, but all she could do was smile. The elder Winchester didn't scare her, not after she had seen him bloodied and soiled.

"Now, you see, Dean, that doesn't worry me the slightest. See y'all soon!” 

The dial tone sounded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! As you can see, I left this a bit open ended for a (possible) sequel in the future, so keep an eye out if you liked this story. Thanks again to everyone for reading!


End file.
